Strangers in the Night
“You’re going to scale the wall, right?”
He nodded.
“What about some footage of you climbing the wall, that would be exciting for viewers, and I can do it from the trees as you go in.”
He considered her carefully.
She tugged on his shirt, her level of excitement rising. “Come on, I’ll just film you climbing the wall. How can it hurt? It’ll be fun!”
She could see the interest gleaming in his eyes. Was it the potential footage, or something else that captured his attention?
“Are you always this aroused?” There was a curious smile on his face.
“No, it’s the affect you have on me, Ben. You and your…camera.” Laughing, she swung her door open and jumped out. “Come on, let’s do it.”
If Joe, his producer, knew what he was up to, he’d be a dead man. One of the ground rules of the show was that he would not accept or exacerbate any risk to innocent members of the public. Somehow this crazy French woman had affected his better judgment. Her kooky attitude; that was it. Either that or the “aphrodisiac” angle was making him act just as crazy as she was.
Whatever it was, he was holding her hand and leading her back along the path as he made his way toward the farmhouse, using the night vision on his camcorder to see the way. When he glanced over his shoulder, she smiled at him cheerfully, her own camcorder held aloft in her free hand.
“You’re one crazy lady, “he whispered.
“Only in a good way, though, yes?”
“That’s debatable.”
Who in their right mind would want to get involved with this? He smiled wryly at his own train of thought. That’s what his mother and his older brothers said to him all the time. They thought he was an idiot, delving into the dubious things he did, all in the name of good TV. Didn’t stop him from wanting to take it on. He didn’t want an easy life, and this was a challenge. Was he, therefore, just as crazy as Patrice?
It was distinct possibility.
&
nbsp; As they closed on the farm she kept moving, and he had to latch one hand over her waistband to haul her up. He nodded ahead, at the wall marking the perimeter of the farm, now shrouded in darkness. “Just some footage of me, scaling the wall, from here. I’ll hang out until the truck comes in and unloads. You go back to your car once you see the truck approaching, okay?”
“Yes, Ben.” She offered him an innocent expression that looked totally wrong on her face. Like a kitten pretending it didn’t have anything to do with the unraveled ball of string.
“Seriously.”
“Go, quickly.” She gestured off to the left, and when he glanced in that direction he saw headlights were closing on them. Fast.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” she purred, and he could hear the intimate tone underlying her comment. She was getting aroused again, already.
Focus, he told himself. The last thing he needed was to be thinking about sex right now. Despite that, his blood pumped faster, and he found himself mentally rerunning what had just gone on between them in the car, the vision of her riding his cock was so hot it was going to be forever melded onto his brain.
The woman was a liability.
Feeling somehow duped, he kissed her, and then headed off. Glancing back, he saw that she was resting one shoulder up against the tree, and was busy filming.
Two trucks were approaching and he made his way to the wall, scaling the seven-foot high stone edifice before the trucks reached the gates. The moon was too full for his liking. He hunched low against the top of the wall, retrieving his camcorder from his belt and switching it on. The man Patrice had been talking to earlier was opening up the gates, and light flood into the interior compound as the trucks trundled in.
Two men got out of the leading truck, one from the rear. All four men started to unload the first truck. Ben filmed the setup for around thirty seconds, then flicked the camera off and tucked it away in his belt. He waited until the men had gone inside the barn carrying a load of boxes, and then dropped down on the inside of the wall. When they returned to shift a second haul, he risked going to the second truck and quietly opened the rear door.
“Bingo,” he whispered under his breath as he surveyed the boxes inside. Tobacco, cigarettes and cigars, bigger boxes that looked like spirits at the back. Camera on, he grabbed some quick footage, made sure he included the license plate on the vehicle, and then closed the door gently, quietly. Back to the wall, scale it, and be gone. Tip off customs, and he was good to go.
It was then that he saw her, standing by the gates, filming him.
She waved.
She actually waved.