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Milton Residence
St. Paul, Maryland
Present Day

 

“We’re leaving on a quick trip tomorrow. Should be back in a week, I’m guessing.”

Gregory Milton, Dean of St. Paul’s University and James Acton’s best friend, eyed him. “You’re guessing?”

Acton shrugged. “Too vague?”

“What do you think?”

Milton’s wife, Sandra, swatted her husband’s shoulder. “Be nice, dear.” She turned to her guests. “So, where are you two off to this time?”

Acton grinned. “Can’t say!”

Milton threw up his hands. “You’re impossible! You do know you work for me?”

Acton held up a finger. “Personal time. It’s spring break.”

“You’re supposed to be at work on Monday.”

Acton coughed, rubbing his throat. “I feel a cold coming on. Do you want a doctor’s note?”

“Damned right I do!”

Acton turned to his wife. “Doctor, I need a note.”

Laura Palmer grinned. “Sure thing, darlin’.”

Milton rolled his eyes. “Not that kind of doctor.”

Laura laughed. “Oh, Greg, you’re just one big button that demands to be pushed.”

Sandra ran her fingers through the hair on the back of her husband’s head. “Hon, you are too easy to tease sometimes.” She turned back to Laura. “You two are teasing, right?”

Acton shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We are leaving tomorrow, and should be back within a week, but we can’t say where.”

Milton regarded him. “Why?”

“We promised.”

“Who?”

“The man who asked us to help him.”

“But I’m your best friend.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t tell you anything.”

Milton’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “Is this something dangerous?”

Acton shrugged. “I hope not. Possibly.”

Milton grabbed his beer, draining half the glass, then sat back, cradling it in his lap. “What is it with you two? I can understand when you’re caught up in a dangerous situation, but why, when you know it is dangerous, do you still go charging in?”

Acton made a face. “I’m making sure my biographer has plenty to work with when I’m gone?”

Milton grunted. “They should make a movie of your lives.”

Laura grinned. “A series of movies, like James Bond.”

Sandra cooed. “Idris Elba could play Jim!”

Acton gave her a look. “Don’t get me started.”

Laura reached out for Sandra. “He’s dreamy, isn’t he?”

Sandra agreed a little too vigorously. “I’d like to be stranded on a mountain with him.”

Laura snickered. “I’d rather be stranded in a hot tub.”

Acton’s jaw dropped. “I’m sitting right here!”

Laura waved a dismissive hand. “Shhh, the ladies are talking now.”

Milton eyed his friend. “And if we talk like that, we’re pigs.”

Sandra patted his knee. “You are, darling.”

Milton tried to regain the upper hand. “So, you’re leaving tomorrow?”

Acton nodded. “The last of the equipment we need arrived a couple of hours ago.”

“Equipment? Just what are you doing on this trip?”

Acton gave a toothy smile. “Can’t say.”

“My God, you’d think you were CIA.” Milton paused, eying him for a moment. “You’d tell me if they recruited you, wouldn’t you?”

Acton delivered his best Sean Connery impression. “I would. But then I’d have to kill you.”

 

“I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Sandra glanced over her shoulder at her husband as she removed her makeup. “You always have a bad feeling when it comes to them.”

Milton lay down on the bed, face first, his back aching. “That’s not true.” He reached around and massaged his old gunshot wound that had temporarily paralyzed him, a paralysis that he had been told would be lifelong. Fortunately, the doctors had been wrong. “I only have a bad feeling when they leave the country.”

“Good thing Laura’s rich. There’s no way they’d be able to get travel insurance anymore.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t been put on a no-fly list just to protect the innocent.”

Sandra giggled. “Here, let me do that for you.” She straddled him and took over, his wife having taken a course in therapeutic massage after he had been shot.

He groaned. “Oh, God, that’s the spot!”

“It’s always the spot.”

“Is it?”

“Yup. Every time I reach it, you say the same thing.” She pushed harder.

“Aaah, definitely the spot!” he moaned, his entire body turning to putty. “Every time he goes off galivanting somewhere, my back acts up.”

“Well, they’re leaving in the morning, so there’s nothing you can really do about it. You’ll just have to hope they’re going to be okay.”

He frowned. “I don’t know. This time it’s different. Usually, someone at least has an idea where they are. I don’t know if they’re going to Toledo or Timbuktu.”

“Which is safer?”

“You’d think Toledo, but who knows these days.”

“Well, wherever is safer, is likely where they’re not going.”

Milton grunted. “If I just knew where they were going, I’d feel better.”

“Hack their computer and find out.”

He chuckled. “Right, because it’s that easy.”

“For some people it is.”

Milton paused then rolled over, his wife now straddling the good parts. “Smart and beautiful. Are we talking about Tommy Granger?”

She grinned then ground her hips into him. “I’m definitely not talking about him.” She moaned. “You be Idris.”

Milton’s eyes shot wide. “Umm, be prepared to be underwhelmed then.”

She ground again. “Shut up. You’re James Bond, and I’m—”

“Michelle Yeoh!”

She stopped, staring down at him. “You didn’t take long to think about that.”

He grinned then flipped her over, pressing against her. “I think of myself as more of a Pierce Brosnan than an Idris Elba.”

She reached over and turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness. “I don’t care who you are, Mr. Bond, just put those Thunderballs to work.”

He laughed, his shoulders shaking as he failed to control it. She grabbed his hips and pulled hard. He groaned, killing any laughter, and enjoyed the fantasy, silently praying neither of them called out the wrong name.