Free Intimate Knowledge Part 1 by Helen Karol Page B

indicate he is not wholly happy with the results of the investigation.
    “What we could get, yeah.  There are a few purges and that period between eight and twelve years ago is obviously a plant.  It looks like she has a clear path back to birth, but once we dig deeper it is a convoluted trail.  We can’t sniff around her much more without alerting unwanted attention.  But, your instincts were right, Leo.”
    I kno w about plants.  I have a few myself.  “Why the plant?  Why so convoluted?”
    “Can’t say for sure, b ut my guess is she was in deep cover more than once.”
    She’s a vice cop and one sexy woman.  I don’t want to think about what that deep cover might entail.  Oh hell, who am I trying to kid.  Sure I do.  Gripped by the idea of the various sexy scenarios of her undercover, I try to dampen the rampant libido those filthy fantasies awaken.  I would like to claim they are tasteful, but they are like every bad porno movie you could imagine.  Nick’s rational voice cuts across my x-rated thoughts.
    “She’s good.  One kill.  Wounded once.  Decorated twice.  Four reprimands.  She’s a feisty one.  Sure you wanna take her on?”  There is grudging admiration in Nick’s voice.  She must be good.  After years of active service as a SEAL and now running his own security firm, he isn’t easily impressed.
    I answer my own triumphant instincts rather than his question.  “I knew it.  I knew she didn’t add up.”
    Nick agrees. “Yeah, Leo.  No wonder she isn’t eagerly stepping out of her panties for you.  She’s a decorated, vice detective – a veteran with fourteen years service under her belt.”
    “And eleven years older than I am.”  I add.
    I turn back to my laptop and scroll to Nick’s initial report.  It is a customary background vetting of her, similar to the ones carried out on anyone who will have personal access to me or those close to me.  Most people in my position have similar checks done these days.  Some of the photographs are perhaps more intrusive than they should be.  Otherwise, it is a standard check.  Looking at it now I can correct the fabrications.
    Raisa Gordon, twenty-eight, (actually forty-one) law student.  Employed for the past six years in an admin position at the 15th Police Precinct (actually a detective in vice).  Various catering positions before that (a fourteen year old veteran).  Lives in a small studio apartment nearby.  Only child of older parents from a small town in the Mid-West.  Came to the city with a boyfriend about eight years ago (actually nineteen years ago).  Dumped the boyfriend, but Boston stuck.  A few short-term relationships since (there must be more here, but Nick is drawing a blank.  I chafe jealously wondering who and what history I am missing). Nothing for the past couple of years except for a few hook-ups (that at least is accurate).   Friends with Terri Blakestone for two years, a fellow student.
    Runs regularly, attends a local gym and likes to dance.  She and Terri took salsa classes last year and they are known to go to salsa bars from time to time. A huge baseball and Red Sox fan.  She also enjoys the arts, galleries, concerts, ballet.  According to a disgruntled neighbor, she plays opera far too loud, far too often.  It is a convincing cover.  It convinced me.  Until we met.  After less than a day in her company, my instincts began to itch.
    Nick grunts. “She’s not like the women you usually go for, Leo.  She is no innocent.  I’ll bet you struck out with your usual direct approach.  In her line of work, she’ll have heard plenty of filthy lines.  She probably knows just how to blow a guy off without turning the screw.”
    I sit back and run my hand through my hair, frowning.  “Right,” I acknowledge grudgingly.  I wince when I think of my arrogant declaration to her the day we met.  The hot passion she frustratingly exposed then, and on a few occasions since, proves she is