Con Job
By
The tall man had curly grey hair and a cynical expression offset by a black eye patch over his left eye. In the short-sleeved orange prison jumpsuit it was easy to see the long rangy muscles of his arms, both of which were covered with an intricate network of tattoos. A short cigarette hung on his lower lip, and the smoke from it drifted up towards the ceiling. When he saw MacGyver, his clear blue eye brightened, and he gave a pleased nod.
"Hey Bud--" came his raspy greeting. MacGyver drew in a deep breath and sat down on the other side of the Plexiglas wall, but Harry's attention was focused on Rose; he studied her carefully from top to bottom, his gaze lingering on selected portions of her anatomy.
"Brought me a present, did ya?" he leered good-naturedly. Mac leaned forward and glared at his grandfather.
"Harry, stop violating your parole! This is the fifth time in seven years, and it's ridiculous--you're getting to be a liability."
"Yeah I love you too, pansy ass," his grandfather shot back before looking again at Rose. "So, planning on staying long in Mission City, Toots? I could show you a good time--"
Nonplussed, Rose looked at Mac, who had a dangerous glint in his eyes. He grabbed her chin and kissed her roughly. Harry snickered, along with a few other observers in the visiting room.
"See? Now you're getting the idea, Bud. Shit--took ya *long* enough to catch on--"
"What?" Rose demanded in confusion. MacGyver glared at his grandfather.
"Jesus Christ! Once and for all Harry, I am NOT GAY!"
"Riiiiiiiight," came the older man's cynical grunt as he blew out a mouthful of cigarette smoke. "You just happen ta be single, live in San Fruit-sisco, and dress like a rump ranger's wet dream. Tell me another one, boy!"
Rose bit back the urge to laugh; Mac was brick red with frustration and embarrassment.
"Rose, meet my incorrigible grandfather Harry Jackson, prison lifer and all around pain in the ass," he growled. Rose smiled; Harry winked at her.
"You sleeping with him?"
Startled, she nodded. Harry smirked.
"He getting the hang of it yet?"
"Arrrrghhh!" MacGyver wiped his face with one hand as Harry leaned forward, flashing a familiar grin.
"Hey! Didja get those license plates I made ya?"
There was a pause. Mac slowly replied,
"Yes, but somehow HITMAN1 lacked a certain degree of subtlety, Harry--" with a sigh he looked at his grandfather and against his will, smiled. For a moment, Rose could see the obvious affection between them and she grinned to herself.
"So boy, what brings you back to this pimple on the ass of the world?" Harry sucked on the cigarette. Mac shot a glance at Rose.
"I need your help," Mac admitted in a low tone. Harry's eyebrows went up, and he rocked back from the Plexiglas, an astonished look on his craggy face.
"I guess there's a first time for everything--" came the wondering reply as he crossed his arms. "Black or white job?"
"Black," MacGyver responded tersely. "And I need you outside for it. What's your status?"
"Humph. You go do the sob sister thing for Judge Traskell and I could be reading my Penthouses at your place by the weekend," Harry rumbled.
"Done," Mac sighed.
"But I gotta a few conditions, Bud, so this ain't gonna come cheap," the older man announced. MacGyver glared; for a moment, Harry's blue eye narrowed and his face took on grim lines even as his big calloused hands curled into fists.
"Let's hear them."
"I ain't out for good--soon as it's done I come back here,"
"What?" leaning closer, Mac stared at Harry in bewilderment, "Why?"
For a moment a soft expression crossed the older man's face and he smiled.
"Celia."
"Celia?" bewildered, Mac looked to where his grandfather was staring. Across the visiting room, a bleach blonde guard with a huge beehive hairdo and thick blue eye shadow was scowling at everyone in the room. She was generously endowed, and reminded Mac of a middle aged bitter Valkyrie.
"The guard?"
"Yep. We got a little understanding, her and me. I keep coming back, and she keeps me supplied in the personal comfort department-- ta be honest, Bud, sex just ain't normal for me now unless there are handcuffs involved--"
"--Oh God I don't want to hear this--" Mac groaned, his forehead pounding the Plexiglas. Rose tried valiantly not to smile, but was having a very hard time. Harry shrugged.
"That's rule one, Daisy Boy, take it or leave it."
"Okay, okay--I'll make sure you get back inside--"
"Good. The other one's gonna come after the job, so you'd best go get out your lacy hankie and see if Traskell will go easy on a KY cowboy like you--"
"Goddamn it Harry, I'm going to slice off your ears and feed them to you--" Mac growled, but neither man had any malice in their tone, and the exchange had the feel of an old familiar pattern. Rose glanced down at her hands and waited until Mac's began drumming on the table.
"Anything else?"
"Not at the moment, Bud--but you got me mighty interested. Go see Traskell and we'll take it from there. You at that crappy motor court place?"
"Yes--" Mac admitted in annoyance. Rose shifted, checking her watch. Harry sighed.
"Okay then. Stock up on Black Label and Lucky Strikes and we're in business. And for God sake, don't forget the quarters for the Magic Fingers, neither!"
The bell sounded the end of visiting hours before Mac could make the withering reply he wanted to; Harry smiled at Rose again as he stood to leave.
"Missy--" he acknowledge with a hint of genuine charm.
*** *** ***
They came out of the courthouse and into the late afternoon haze. Rose glanced around Mission City and sighed. Mac noticed her gaze and sighed as well.
"This place isn't a pimple, it's a *boil* on the ass of the world," he grumbled, glancing through the release papers in his hand. Rose looked up at him.
"When can we get your grandfather?"
"Tomorrow. We'll catch the first flight back to LA and put Harry to work as soon as possible. You need to stay with him and out of trouble while I speak to the HIT board meeting--think you can do it?"
"You doubt my ability to charm men?" she arched a flirtatious eyebrow at him.
"Never--I doubt your ability to elude my grandfather--" came the dryly honest reply. Rose looked at him questioningly, but Mac shook his head.
"Just watch your step--a great deal of testosterone runs on that side of my family--"
"It didn't exactly miss *you*," she replied with an arch look. MacGyver shot her a dark look.
"There's macho, aggressively hormonal, and then there's complete steroid overkill, Tyro. Despite my profession, I'd like to think I strike the happy medium myself--"
They got into a nondescript truck; Rose checked the rearview mirror before she spoke again.
"So why does he think you're--" She left the sentence unfinished. Mac threw the truck into gear with more muscle than it needed and they pulled away from the curb.
"Homosexual? Because according to him, I haven't managed to increase the census yet. Never mind that he actually *caught* me losing my virginity at the tender age of ten to a pair of girls' hockey All Stars--no, it's all a matter of tradition and stupidity," Mac fumed, lost in memory and irritation.
Rose bided her time. He continued.
"You've got to understand, Tyro, that Harry comes from a time when wild oats were not only sown, they bore fruit. He's got illegitimate offspring, as did my own father--entertainments in a small town can be quite limited. I on the other hand, have no interest in propagation whatsoever--"
"Really?"
"Tyro, do I *look* like father material to you?"
"No, but Harry doesn't either--"
"Harry was stuck with coitus interruptus--I live in a generation with more options than that--" Mac snorted, a trifle unkindly, Rose thought.
"True--"
"And I intend on keeping it that way. I am not now nor have I ever been a father--capice?"
"Capice," she agreed with amusement. MacGyver shot her another black look.
"After seeing your hips, Tyro, He's going to demand I start a dynasty you know--a house of crime, ruling alongside the Mafia and the Tongs--"
"Unless he knocks you out and collects your semen, I doubt it's going to happen--"
"God! Don't give him any ideas!" MacGyver shuddered. "The very image of Harry with--never mind. The further we're away from dairy country, the better."
*** *** ***
"So what's the deal, Bud?" Harry burped gently. The remains of a KFC carryout meal littered the coffee table, and Rose winced at the number of empty beer cans that formed a neat pyramid on the carpet.
"I've got a safe I need opened," Mac began carefully, sipping the can of Black Label with a moue of distaste. Rose noted it wasn't actually bad enough for him to stop drinking it, just bad enough for him to complain about it.
"Ah---well, you know I stopped cracking back in the early sixties. Unless it's an old one--"
"It is. For the record, it's a five hundred pound free standing Chubb Fortress."
Harry grinned. "Good God--a Fortress! Haven't even *seen* one of those since Truman was in office. What's in it?"
"Papers, possibly jewelry, and--" Mac trailed off.
"--An incendiary," Harry finished heavily. "Figures. Anyone using a Chubb nowadays would need a backup. Hell's Bells, boy, could ya make it any harder to crack?"
"Sure," Mac smiled crookedly. "How's this--the damned thing is mounted sideways in the lobby of the Phoenix Foundation?"
Harry glared at his grandson with his one good eye.
"That was a rhetorical comment, ya bonetoker, and I hope to Christ you were kidding, right?"
"No. The former owner thought it would be prudent to have his most important material kept secure by the unknowing guardianship of one of the world's most famous philanthropic organizations. The frigging irony is enough to choke a mammoth."
The three of them pondered the situation for a long, gloomy moment. Rose was the first to sigh, followed by Mac. Harry however was frowning and studying his hands.
"Sooooooo. We have a safe in a public building, lying sideways and loaded with an incendiary device. Okay, let's start thinking about how to crack this crib."
"Monday morning. You need a way in," Mac told him firmly. Harry nodded in agreement.
"Something familiar and legit--don't want too many people asking questions."
"Exterminators?"
"Sewer workers--nobody wants to get close to those guys--" Rose offered softly. The two men looked at her and nodded.
"Good thinking, Toots--" Harry acknowledged. "Gives a nice excuse to bring in some hardware too. I like the way the dolly thinks."
"She has chops," Mac admitted. "All right, sewer workers. I have a rough map here--" Flipping open a laptop, Mac tapped a few keys, bringing up the lobby floor plan of the Phoenix Foundation building. Harry studied it a moment, stroking his chin.
"Three exits, a bank of elevators--what's this thing here?" he jabbed a thick finger at a square off center in the plan.
"Information desk."
"And the safe?"
"Here--" Mac pointed to the wall space at the end of the elevator hall. Harry grunted.
"Behind something?"
"Built into the base of a fancy fountain I think. Nikolai used to go in as a maintenance employee."
"Clever--" Rose admitted. "And tricky. But the sewer angle could work if we doctored the fountain prior to going in--can we do that Sunday night?"
"Yes," Mac agreed, "Enough liquid methane released would convince anyone that we're legitimate. Come Monday, the two of you can go in, set up a perimeter and get to work with no one the wiser. What else would you need, Harry?"
"My tools--we can pick those up at Cody Stanton's place before we blow town--and something to drop the firebomb in--got a CO2 suitcase?"
"I can get one, " came Mac's purr. "Not a problem."
"Good. Just tell me this then, boy--are you *sure* that whatever you're looking fur's in this thing? 'Cause I ain't risking my balls for paper and cheap memories."
"Yes, it's there. Anything else will be frosting on the cake at this point. Got a cut in mind?"
"Seeing how you're family, I figure sixty forty would be fair--"
"Think again, Harry. Think lower and more realistically," growled MacGyver as he crushed the empty beer can in one fist. Harry pretended to grumble, but a smirk lingered on the edges of his mouth.
"All right all right--Gimmee twenty five percent of the other stuff in the safe, and your endorsement on my new mail order scheme and we're in business."
"Mail order business?" Rose asked curiously. Mac rolled his eyes.
"Oh Christ, here we go again--what is it this time? More Polynesian mail order brides?"
"Nope--a school for assassins. Wanna call it Hit Man U--" Harry announced proudly. "Gonna run it in the back of my magazines--"
"Harry!"
*** *** ***
Monday morning arrived, and Murdoc was less than delighted to be sauntering through the main doors of the Phoenix Foundation. Even less so once the smell hit him; with a grimace he approached the security guard at the information desk.
"Morning Stan--little problem with the plumbing?" he cheerily inquired while holding his nose. The guard, a burly older man gave a pained nod.
"Oh yeah. Gross, huh? I guess it happened over the weekend. Gotta give the city credit though--they're on it already. They say it will take most of the day."
"Charming. Thank God I'm up on the 30th floor then--is the water still on?"
"Yeah--it's only cut here on the ground floor for the moment," the guard replied as he watched Murdoc sign in and walk towards the elevators. A canvas screen had been erected around the decorative fountain, and several signs cautioned passersby about contaminated water and men at work. As Murdoc stepped into the nearest elevator, a woman joined him. He glanced at her while the doors closed, and a wolfish grin crossed his lean face. The elevator rose swiftly.
"*You're* a sewer worker? My God, I *am* in the wrong line of business!" he teased, admiring the curvaceous fit of her jumpsuit. Rose tried hard to keep from looking directly at him, cursing her twisted luck in choosing the wrong elevator at the wrong moment. As the doors for the thirtieth floor opened and he stepped out, though, she couldn't resist replying.
"Oh I don't know--you look as if you've laid more than your fair share of pipe, Mr. Murdoc--"
He spun around, astonished at her saucy tone; she waggled her fingers goodbye and the doors slid closed, leaving him chuckling to himself as he reluctantly headed for his office.
Two minutes later he was out the door again, staring at the elevator with an intense expression on his face.
"Very peculiar--" he muttered to himself. He waited until the elevator began to descend again, and then hit the button. The door opened, and Rose looked at him once more, her mouth a perfect O of surprise. Murdoc grinned cheekily at her.
"Hullo darling, fancy meeting you again. Listen, you don't mind if we have a quick chat, do you?" He reached in and yanked her out of the elevator by her wrist. Rose was too startled to react at first, and he managed to drag her into his office before she could speak.
"Listen, I--"
"--Knew my name. Isn't that odd? I mean, I do pride myself in never forgetting a face, or at the very least a figure. I was pretty sure I'd never seen you before. But you knew me, knew me well enough to call me by name, darling. So that means either my memory's shot, or--you're not really a sewer worker."
Rose tried to yank her wrist free of Murdoc's grip, but he gently let go of her and she flinched under his scrutiny.
"Height's about right, certainly the curves strike a chord . . . but the hair was brown back then, wasn't it?" he prompted gently, leaning back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Rose looked into his dark mischievous eyes and any lie she might have told vaporized. She sighed.
"Brown," she agreed, "With those God awful horn rims."
"You had brown eyes too--" Murdoc leaned forward to peer into her blue ones with a delighted smile. "--Not the outstandingly gorgeous topaz that they are now--"
"Flatterer--" she accused weakly, blushing. Murdoc reached out and took her chin in his hand, his expression suddenly serious.
"You were involved in the death of a very dear friend of mine, Miss R, and flattery or not, I intend on getting to the truth. Connie's in jail, but she isn't the only guilty party in Pete's death."
"Correct," she admitted gently, "But all I can say in my own defense was that it was the quickest, kindest death we could devise--much nicer than what the former Mrs. Thornton *wanted* us to do. Given the general state of his health, all we really did was put a fixed time to an inevitable event."
Murdoc reluctantly took this in, weighing her words against some truth in his mind; he gave a discouraged sigh.
"You're right, of course, but it doesn't make it any less reprehensible, Miss R. And just what does the R stand for anyway, darling?
"Oh that would be telling--" came her reply. With swift composure she pulled out a Beretta and set of handcuffs.
Murdoc raised an eyebrow, his mouth set in a smirk of surprise.
"And it's not even my birthday--"
"--Just your lucky morning," she finished with a roll of her eyes. Go sit down and don't give me a reason to gag you as well, all right?"
"Oh, I *adore* commanding women--" he muttered, stalking around his desk and dropping into the high backed leather chair. Rose cuffed his left wrist to the arm, and lightly pressed the muzzle of the gun into his left ear. She pulled out a walkie-talkie and murmured softly into it.
"Harry, I have a--complication--"
"Yeah, well deal with it, Toots--I gotta few of my own right now," came the annoyed grumble. Rose sighed.
"Anything serious?"
"Naw--but it's gonna take a little longer than we thought--part of the tumblers have seized up. You handle things upstairs and I'll keep goin' here. Check with me in an hour or two and we'll grab some corndogs--"
Murdoc grinned up at Rose.
"Sounds like a very classy lunch date--"
"Hush!" she snapped, thinking. The phone on the desk rang; looking at her, Murdoc shrugged.
"Get it--" she ordered softly, "But keep it brief and sweet--"
"Exactly like your lingerie, darling," he agreed, scooping up the receiver. Rose sat on the edge of the desk, facing him, gun leveled under his chin.
"Murdoc--" he announced. "No, I don't think I can make the meeting, Sandra--no, I may be stuck in my office for a while--" he rambled gently. "Be an angel and see to it that I'm not disturbed for a few hours--"
Rose heard the secretary's laughing tone but not her words; Murdoc flashed a brief grin.
"Now how did you ever guess about the wild and kinky sex part? I'm going to *insist* you get a raise for those psychic abilities of yours, darling--" he gently hung up the phone and looked up at Rose, who was nonplussed.
"You have quite a rapport with the help," she murmured. Murdoc gave an elegant shrug.
"I'm still the new boy around here, so they're intrigued and tolerant. So tell me, Miss R--how seriously should I be taking this? You're not planting a bomb downstairs are you? Because if you are, I *do* have to try and stop you--"
"God no!" Rose gulped, startled. "Why would I do that?"
"Well, " He ventured slowly, "Because you kill people for a living?"
Rose got off the desk and went to the office door, locking it before coming back to Murdoc, giving him time to watch her. She shook her head.
"No bomb, and nobody's going to die--in fact, the worst case scenario would involve maybe a whiff of ozone and a lot of cursing from Harry."
"No bomb. I don't suppose you can tell me what *is* involved?"
"No, not directly," she smiled. "But you're intelligent, Mr. Murdoc, so we can play a round of Twenty Questions if you want."
He leaned forward, handcuff clinking as he did so, his fine dark eyes twinkling. He arched an eyebrow at her.
"The forfeit version?"
"Oh of course," she agreed throatily. "After all, it's not as if we're going to be caught or anything--" she hopped up on the edge of the desk, facing him, her feet dangling.
"Mmmmm this morning is getting better and better all the time," he smiled, leaning back and pressing the edge of his index finger against his mouth. He thought hard for a moment, then softly asked,
"Do you have more than one accomplice?"
"Yes," she admitted freely. With a deliberate gesture, she kicked off one sneaker, sending it flying. He glanced at her bare toes and grinned.
"Parfait Pink--I'm mad about pink you know--"
"God not another color fiend--what *is* it with men and color? Pink, red--"
"It's all Freudian, Miss R. Makes those of us with testosterone think of flesh, in all its variegated variations. Highly sexual you know," He gripped her foot with his free hand; she lightly slapped it away.
"Next question," Rose murmured. Murdoc sighed.
"Does one of you accomplices work for the Foundation?"
Rose made a buzzer noise. "Incorrect. Your turn to forfeit, Mr. Murdoc."
He glanced down at himself. Beige corduroy blazer, green sweater, dark slacks and ankle boots. He sighed, trying to peel the blazer off.
"This would be a lot easier if I wasn't cuffed--"
"--And a lot more dangerous. I like you better when you're confined, Mr. Murdoc," Rose replied. He managed to get the jacket off, bunching it at his left arm with a shrug.
"Fair enough. Next question--is one of your accomplices a specialist of some sort?"
"Yes," Rose sighed, letting the other sneaker slip off. She set her bare feet in Murdoc's lap and lightly massaged; his eyes snapped shut and he arched forward with a groan.
"I'm sorry--did that hurt?"
"Nooooo," he managed through gritted teeth. ""Although if you keep doing that, your feet and I are going to start registering for china patterns--" he chuffed. Rose tossed her head back and laughed, a genuine one that made Murdoc cock his head to study her.
"There *is* a sense of humor in there--good. All right, next question. Will whatever's going on in the lobby involve explosives of any type?"
"Possibly," Rose conceded. "Although I can't tell at the moment. I'll forfeit the question to you since the answer can't be determined at this time."
Murdoc glanced hopefully at the jumpsuit; his gaze lingering on the zipper nestled just above the swell of her chest. Rose smirked, toying with it.
"You're going to make my feet jealous--" she warned. Murdoc shook his head, eyes widening.
"Trust me darling, I'll get around to every luscious inch of you in due time--" he promised. Rose hesitated, suddenly aware that he sincerely meant what he said. With a trembling tug, she yanked on the zipper, the growl sounding loud in the big office. Murdoc slumped back against the leather chair, eyes half closed.
"More pink . . . dear God there *is* a Santa Claus," he purred happily. Rose glanced down at her Victoria's Secret satin under wire and nodded as she shrugged out of the sleeves of the coverall.
"I treat myself well at Christmas," she agreed. "Next question?"
"Ah ah--I only get half the jumpsuit?" came Murdoc's protest. She pursed her mouth.
"Look, it's only been four questions and I'm already half undressed, handsome. With sixteen yet to go, it would be nice to level the playing field here--"
"Picky, picky--" he chided with a lazy smile. "All right--is what you are doing illegal?"
"No, although going through the legal channels would take far too long. Forfeit, Mr. Murdoc--" she reached a foot up to toy with his sweater; he captured it and licked her instep in one rough hot tongue swipe. She gasped.
"Oh you liked that, did you?"
"My lips are sealed."
"Not for long--" he shot back as he began to tug the sweater off over his head. It took some work, but with a little effort, he managed to get it along with the blazer down the length of his left arm and down onto the arm of the chair itself. Rose giggled; his hair was tousled from the struggle.
"It's hard to look dignified in my position--" he grumbled. Rose took pity on him. Leaning down, she swiftly unhitched the handcuff, pulled the blazer and sweater off and refastened the manacle in a matter of seconds. Murdoc took advantage of her proximity to nuzzle her left shoulder, reveling in the soft scented warmth of her skin.
"Mmmmm I'm sorry, what question were we on?"
"Sex--six," Rose stammered, making Murdoc grin again. He straightened up, managing to look serious despite the fact that he was bare-chested. Rose noticed the thin silver chain around his neck.
"Number six--is there quite a bit of money involved in this?"
Rose pouted.
"Oh come on, I think the answer to that would be rather self-evident, don't you?" she complained.
Murdoc said nothing, keeping his lean face as neutral as he could. Rose glared at him, but was unable to do it for long; the simple truth was that the man could outstare a cat. With a sigh, she ungraciously unfastened her bra and slipped it off, tossing it on the desk with a flounce. Murdoc blinked, his jaw dropping slightly.
"--I thought you were going to slip out of the rest of the jumpsuit," he managed breathlessly. Rose leaned back with a lazy smile, preening, perfectly aware of how good she looked that way. She set the gun down, well out of his reach.
"Why be predictable? Besides, the look on your face right now is absolutely worth it."
"I'm sure, darling," he agreed, his British drawl suddenly thicker. "After all, I've got a stunningly gorgeous half naked woman on my desk, and I'm trying desperately to think of two more questions that have nothing to do with how damned much I want . . ." he trailed off as Rose stretched out on the desk, her auburn hair cascading off the edge. A framed photo crashed to the carpet, a few pens and pads of paper followed. Murdoc gave a strangled sigh as Rose seductively cupped her chest and laughed.
"Question number seven?"
"Christ! Are you going to come over here, or do I have to *gnaw* through the frame of the chair first?" Murdoc growled, tugging at his tethered arm. Rose shook her head sorrowfully.
"No to both--but I'll be kind and only insist on one forfeit. Think you can manage?" came her sweet question.
"Yesss," he snapped back, his free hand scrabbling for the buttons on his fly. Rose rolled her body to face him, savoring the heat in his dark eyes, the tremble of his lower lip.
"Oh my--" she breathed as his slacks slid down his lean thighs to bunch at his shins. Murdoc had a blush on his high cheekbones, but he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.
"Force of habit from my commando days--" he told her somewhat defiantly. Rose gave a pretty pout and sat up, shaking her hair. She barely managed a whisper since her mouth had gone dry at the sight of Murdoc lounging naked in the leather chair, eyes a hard blaze of lust.
"So I win, since you no longer have anything to forfeit--"
"I beg to differ, darling--" his free hand shot out and snagged her around the waist, pulling her off of the desk and to him. Rose staggered, tripping on the jumpsuit as it slid down to her knees, hobbling her and making her fall. Murdoc guided her forward until she smacked against him, bare chest to bare chest, the chair rocking a bit under the force of their collision. Rose gasped at the sheer heat of his skin, the muscled furry fire of it against her.
"Oooohhh--" was all she could manage to say. Murdoc laughed, free arm coming up to wrap around her.
"Oh God let's see if you taste anything like you smell, Miss R--" he pressed his mouth on hers.
The tender wet press of their lips sent enough raw desire surging through their bodies to combust. Instantly, he tightened his arm, kissing her again forcefully, making her pink mouth open wide. She moaned, and the muffled sound thrummed through him; for long fiery seconds nothing existed but the slick and hungry tango of their tongues.
Dizzily, Rose tried to sit up and pull away, but it was impossible to escape the hard grip of his arm around her. She shifted, feeling the relentless press of his cock against the inside of her bare thigh. He spoke against her temple.
"Number eight--" came his gasped question, "--how fond of these panties are you?
Rose felt long artistic fingers slip under the elastic to cup her bottom and squeeze. She squirmed, sliding against him and whimpering.
"Oh God, oh God, Now I have to lie and say, yes, very, so I can forfeit and take them--" her jumbled sentence was interrupted by a shredding rip as Murdoc proceeded to tear the lingerie. She squealed as he impatiently tossed the ragged scrap away.
"Sorry darling, but once in a while--I cheat," he sighed before dropping his mouth on hers again. Rose wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brought her knees up on either side of his narrow hips, rubbing against him lasciviously, kissing his face, his neck and shoulders.
Murdoc let his head drop back, drinking in her caresses, his eyes closed, his entire lean body thrumming with barely suppressed tension. Rose felt herself melting across him, tasting the salt and leather and musk of his skin.
"Oh, Miss R . . . ." he growled helplessly, shivering every time her lips touched him. Rose giggled happily.
"Mr. Murdoc, I suspect you *like* me--she breathed in his ear right before licking it. He choked, his strong jaw working hard.
"Let me go, damn it, and I'll be more than happy to *fully* demonstrate how much I could like you, my angel--" he pleaded desperately, handcuff rattling.
"Oh I couldn't do that--"
With deft fingers, she guided his quivering cock, pressing the head of it lightly against her wetness.
"But I could do this," she told him simply. Before he could say another word she pushed herself down in one sensuously slow stroke; the sheer pleasures of the moment made her throw her head back and moan.
"Ah God!" Murdoc gasped.
His one-handed grip on her bottom tightened, a shuddering growl escaped him and his eyes widened. Rose braced her hands on his strong shoulders and lifted herself again eagerly, a soft sigh punctuating each stroke. Faster and faster she moved; Murdoc lifted and pulled her with gentle strength until moments later when she writhed, hair whipping around her shoulders as she reached her climax.
She reached down, cupping his face in her hands kissing him deeply; at her touch, Murdoc spasmed, arching up, free hand sliding up her back, pulling her down to him in a desperate clasp as he shuddered. Rose collapsed against his damp chest, nibbling on the silver chain, sated.
Murdoc didn't speak for a long time, but he kept his arm around her, fingers toying with her long hair, touching her in gentle an intimate ways. Sweat dried at his temple, and he licked his lips. Gradually, he drew in a long breath.
"You are . . . " he trailed off, unable to complete the thought. Rose lifted her head to smile at him with such sweetness that he closed his eyes.
" . . . a killer, Sebastian Murdoc. An amoral heartless bitch with no redeeming qualities beyond a certain physical talent," she whispered silkily. Murdoc shook his head.
"No. If you'd simply fucked me darling, maybe. But you didn't. You made love to me, and that makes all the difference in the world."
Rose stiffened. With a sigh of regret, she slid up and off of his lap, moving to the desk to collect her clothing, her actions efficient and quick. Murdoc watched her, his dark eyes missing nothing.
"Sorry if I spoiled the moment for you, sweetheart," came his soft murmur. Rose ignored him, climbing back into her jumpsuit and shoes, stuffing the bra into a pocket before turning to him. Her eyes were slightly wet as she picked up her gun.
"The moment was spoiled years ago, Mr. Murdoc, and it certainly wasn't any fault of yours. Now try to understand this--my accomplices and I are collecting our rightful property down in the lobby. We don't intend on hurting anyone if we can help it. Let us finish, and I can guarantee no one will be harmed. Insist on interfering, and I can't make any promises. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," came his reply. She was amused at how serious he could be, even when naked and handcuffed to a chair.
"Good. I'm putting the key on the floor over here by the door--a clever man like you should be able to reach it and get dressed fairly quickly. I am trusting you to keep this building's occupants in line."
"--Only on one condition, Miss R, " he nodded. Rose looked at him, trying to hide the pain in her eyes and failing in part. She could see herself in his glance.
"And that would be--?"
"Kiss me goodbye until next time--" he insisted with a sad smile. Rose shivered, and her feet slowly took her across the room, back to him. She leaned down as he stretched up, their mouths meeting at the halfway point in a silky slick nibble. Murdoc felt the hot splash of a tear drop on his cheek as she pulled up.
"It was just a fuck, Mr. Murdoc--" she whispered, turning way and slipping out the door. He watched her go; a twisting pain hit him somewhere in the middle of his chest.
"Oh the *hell* it was, darling--you've got a lot to learn--" came his ragged sigh.
*** *** ***
"Okay, we've got to co-ordinate this thing, Doll. The minute I get the door open, ya make sure the CO2 case is open right there at my feet. I'll drop the incendiary into it--you get it closed. Piece of cake," Harry announced around a mouthful of corndog. Rose gave him a doubtful look, but he grinned as he chewed.
"Stop worryin' will ya? I was doing this since before you were wettin' Pampers," he told her confidently.
"It won't ignite the methane in the air, will it?"
"Naw--most of that's gone anyway, and besides, once the case is closed, the CO2 will flood the thing, so it can't go off. You take care of that complication upstairs?"
"Yeah--" she glanced at her feet. Harry smirked knowingly and dropped one big callused hand on her shoulder.
"Don't worry Toots--what Mac don't know won't hurt him, and he ain't hearing about it from me."
Rose looked up, astonished, but Harry winked at her with his one good eye.
"How did--"
"When you go up wearing a bra and come back without it--hey, I notice."
"Mac will *kill* me," came her gloomy assessment as she crumpled up a napkin and began to pick up the corndog sticks. Harry took a sip of his soda.
"Mac adores ya, but he ain't ready to admit it yet, not even to himself, Missy. The way I see it, he's got no right to expect anything from you that he ain't willing to commit in return. Give it some time, okay?"
Rose sighed, and looked at the man sitting next to her on the tiled floor.
"You're pretty smart, Harry."
"Naw, jest watch a lotta Oprah in the joint. Let's crack the safe."
Harry rose up, dusting his rump and moved back to the base of the fountain. The door of the Fortress was barely exposed, tucked behind part of the fountain's decorative paneling. Harry pulled out a stethoscope and plugged it into his ears, placing the cup of it against the door.
"Figured out the combination about an hour ago--14, 9, 11, 15--spells out Niko, don't it?"
"You *are* good--" came Rose's murmur. Harry gave a pleased little shrug.
"I try. Now get that suitcase ready--I'm gonna dial up the combo and unhook the bomb--it won't blow, but we don't want to take any chances and lose our eyebrows--" He leaned over, concentrating.
"Right--" Rose shifted the metal-hinged container closer to Harry and looked up. He was focusing on the safe's dial, his tongue between his teeth. The tumblers made light clicking sounds, and finally, when the fourth one rattled out, Harry yanked on the handle. He reached in to the back of the door, grabbing a small metal box the size of a pack of cigarettes with three wires hanging off of it and dropped it into the CO2 suitcase. Rose slammed the case shut and hit a button on the top of the box; there was a harsh hissing sound as the case flooded with foaming flame retardant. Harry meanwhile had turned a penlight into the interior of the safe.
"Well lookie here--this Niko sure was an organized fella . . . nice big file folder, all labeled an everything . . . box of jewelry too--let's get this cleaned out and closed up--" Harry scooped everything out into a tool bag, making sure to carefully wipe down the inside of the safe before lightly slamming the door shut again. He and Rose replaced the paneling, working swiftly to bolt it back into place. With a satisfied sigh, Harry picked up the CO2 case while Rose took the tool bag.
"It's about two now, so let's take down the screens, tell 'em we gotta check back with the main office and vamoose, okay?"
"Got it. But we go together Harry--Mac's rules--" she warned him.
"As if I would blow town--I love the man, but I do have some common sense, ya know--Mac ain't a hired killer for nothin'--" came the baleful argument. Rose merely shrugged as she carefully folded up the screens and tucked them under her arm. They trotted out after chatting to the guard, and made their unhurried exit to the parking garage to climb into a plain white van. Rose slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.
*** *** ***
"What the hell is this black shit?"
"Caviar, Harry, from Russia. That black shit, as you call it, runs about sixty five dollars an ounce," Mac announced haughtily.
They were all dressed for dinner, sitting at the finest table in Zola's, looking out over the sunset on the ocean. Rose looked strikingly elegant in a mint green satin sundress, and Mac matched her, his charcoal Armani suit elegant and perfectly tailored. Even Harry with his steel grey curls and dark eye patch looked rakishly respectable in a slightly rumpled blazer and slacks, his borrowed Ralph Lauren tie slightly askew.
"Smells like something scraped off a bait shop floor," he complained suspiciously. Mac sighed lightly, and glanced at Rose.
"You did well, Tyro. As it stands, you have your three point five million from the Van de Roche case, as well as a tidy lump sum from Niko's other little treasures. Not bad for a Monday's work."
She smiled distantly at him, sipping her champagne as Harry broke in.
"And how much does my cut come to, Bud? I've got start up costs to consider ya know, and I wanna get Celia something nice from LA--mebbe a gold-plated Lava lamp or something--"
"Your cut, Harry is about half a million, give or take a few thousand," Mac told him softly. "I can stick it in the first national of Mission City if you want, or leave it with Celia--your choice."
Harry was astonished, his blue eye wide with genuine surprise. For once, he was speechless, and Mac managed a chuckle.
"Sure you want to go back inside?" Mac gently taunted. "With that kind of money, you and your love guard could do Vegas in a big way--"
"--In a big way, oh you're damned *right*, ya colon commando! Shit! I have to get to a phone, get some action laid down before Celia hits the bingo parlor--'cuse me, Toots--" Harry scrambled up, hurrying to the lobby with long impatient strides. Mac watched him go with a shake of his head.
"Pain in the ass, but he's family--"
"His cut was never that high--you gave him part of yours--" Rose accused gently. Mac slowly nodded, looking down at the tabletop. Far out on the horizon, the sun sank low into the water, the golds and pinks bleeding over the water. Rose took a moment to reapply her lipstick, pressing the bright red color to her mouth as Mac watched her intently.
"The board wants me to step into Nikolai's position, Rose. Unanimously, they moved to have me take the post."
"Congratulations--" Rose murmured, slightly stunned. "This is what you've wanted, isn't it?"
He lifted his head, and stared at her, even as he fished in the pocket of his jacket. Out came a long velvet box; he pushed it towards her.
"I nearly forgot--your emeralds--" With ruthless grace, he slid out of his seat and moved behind her as she opened it, seeing the magnificent choker of tiny diamond strands weaving the three emeralds in a chain of glittering green fire. She drew in a breath even as MacGyver lifted her hair off her neck.
"Put it on, Tyro--"
She lifted it from the box and set it to her slim throat; Mac took the ends and began to hook them together at the base of her neck as he leaned down, breathing in her ear.
"Oh Rose--" his voice trembled slightly.
She stood, turning her face to look at him, her expression as blank and smooth as porcelain.
"--A collar for a good little pet? I think not. Goodbye, MacGyver."
Smoothly, swiftly, she kissed him, and then pushed past his stunned frame to walk out of the restaurant. Behind her she heard him take a few steps and fall.
She didn't look back.
END
