They lay on their backs in the moonlight, bathed in sweat, panting, on a bed that had been stripped of everything but the bottom sheet.
“It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” he gasped.
“Over a year, but I’m always this way.”
“Always?”
“Can we do it again, now, please?”
“Oh, God, I’m going to die.”
“Not until I’m finished with you.” She rolled over, put her head on his shoulder and began fondling him.
He stopped her. “It has to rest.”
“How long?”
“I’m not sure. Weeks, maybe.”
“You should speak to your doctor about getting that pill that makes it possible for the impotent to get an erection.”
“Impotent? How can you say that?”
“Any guy who can’t do it three times in an hour and a half is in big trouble.”
He dissolved in what seemed to be a combination of laughter and weeping.
“Don’t worry, I’m not an impatient person. Take another ten minutes.”
“I’m going to die in this bed,” he said, “drained of all life by some new kind of vampire.”
“One that sucks semen from its victims?”
“Not just that; the whole life force.”
“I’ll bet you ten bucks I can bring you back to life in sixty seconds.”
“You’re on.”
A minute later, he said, “My money’s on the dresser over there; take whatever you want.”
She threw a leg over him and slid him inside her, moving slowly up and down. “Nice view of the ocean from here,” she said.
“From where?”
“From on top.”
“Yeah, I can’t see a thing from down here except you, and I like the view from this angle.”
“You’re sweet, for a G-Man,” she said, leaning down and biting a nipple.
“And you have marvelous breasts, for a cop,” he replied, holding them in his hands and massaging.
“I have marvelous breasts for a female human being,” she said, slapping him lightly across the chops. “Another compliment like that and I’ll stop.”
She woke first, showered, dressed, and went down to the kitchen. She was turning two omelets when he staggered in. “You’re walking funny,” she said.
“I’m lucky I can walk at all,” he replied, sinking into a chair at the table.
“You FBI guys aren’t in very good shape, are you? Maybe you should undertake a program of fitness training.”
“I’m of the view that exercise should be activity-specific.”
“What?”
“If you want to get in shape for sex, you should have more sex. Maybe you could be my personal trainer.”
“I’m sure we could whip you into shape in no time at all,” she said, sliding the omelets onto plates and sitting down. She sipped her orange juice. “So, I guess all you think about is sex, huh?”
“Well, I mean . . .”
“I had hoped we could have an actual conversation before this date ends.”
“Sure, I . . .”
“But the moment I walk into the house, it’s nothing but sex, sex, sex. Is that all you ever think about?”
“Sometimes I think about work.”
“So, how’s work?”
“So-so. How about yours?”
“You remember the guy who broke into my house?”
“Yep.”
“He turned up in the Indian River yesterday, with a bullet through his head.”
“Did you do it? I mean, I know you were pretty pissed off about the intruder, but . . .”
“I might have, if I’d had the chance.”
“How do you know it was the guy? Wasn’t he masked?”
“Yeah, but I fetched him a pretty good kick in the knee, and the floater had a badly bruised knee. He fit the general description, too.”
“You run his prints?”
“The FBI computer was running very slowly yesterday; we should know something this morning, if your people can get their act together.”
“Did you get anything else from the corpse? I mean, our people usually do.”
“Oh, we struggle along, in our own small-town way. He’s Cuban—we know that from his dental work—and he had a girlfriend. I found a locket with a picture of a girl.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I thought so.”
“You want me to delve into this?”
“I think I can handle it, thanks. Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Sometimes it is the duty of an undercover agent to simply sit and wait. I’m looking at some property, though.”
“Where, and what for?”
“At a new development called Blood Orchid, and because it’s the kind of thing the character I’m playing would do.”
“That’s Ed Shine’s place.”
“Who?”
“Didn’t Harry Crisp tell you about Ed?”
“Nope.”
“You remember the case of the two property developers in Miami who were recently shot dead on the same day?”
“I saw something in the papers.”
“Apparently, they were both bidding on the Palmetto Gardens property.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s now called Blood Orchid. Ed Shine, who ended up buying it, had a shot taken at him around the same time. I happened to be there when it happened.”
“So you solved the case instantly?”
“Not exactly. By the time I had finished crawling around on my belly through broken glass, the shooter had dematerialized.”
“They’ll do that.”
“I’d be interested in your impressions of Blood Orchid,” she said.
“What’s Shine like?”
“Nice guy; you’ll like him.” She finished her omelet and stood up. “I gotta go to work.”
Without rising, he pulled her to him and kissed her navel, running his tongue around it.
“Or I could stay for a couple of days,” she said.
He spun her around and pushed her toward the beach door. “Go, while I still have the strength to send you,” he said plaintively.
She gave him a quick kiss, then ran out onto the deck and down to the beach. She ran all the way home, happy.