Free Double Down by Gabra Zackman

heads-up.
    He could tell when he walked in that the house was different; a moved chair, an open newspaper, dishes in the sink. Clearly Birdsong had been there during the day, and was out. Mahmoud had searched the entire upstairs before he heard a car in the driveway. Immediately turning off his flashlight, he had come downstairs and hidden in the linen closet until Birdsong went upstairs. He’d just been making his way out when he’d heard someone breaking in. He’d stayed where he was, barely breathing, until he could see the intruder through a slight crack in the door . . . and had been delighted by the familiar sight of a willowy blonde all in black. When he heard the sounds of Birdsong on the move upstairs, he threw open the closet door, grabbed Tyka, and pulled her inside.
    â€¡â€¡â€¡
    The closet was fairly small, but it had enough room for two. A dim light from the hall came through underneath the door, giving the barest illumination. They stood together in silence as Birdsong came downstairs, passed them, and made his way to the kitchen. Mahmoud’s arm was still around Tyka, though he’d dropped his hand from her mouth, and the space was small enough that she was flush against his body, her back to his front. They were so close that he could feel her heart beat. They breathed slowly, shallowly, the sounds imperceptible, but the beating of Tyka’s heart and Mahmoud’s own sounded like a drum in his ears. If he hadn’t yet realized the effect this woman had on him, he felt it now; felt it in the blood pumping through his veins, in the difficulty he was having keeping his breathing even, in the challenge he was encountering trying to be a gentleman and not get aroused right here, right now, in the midst of a job.
    But having her so close, the scent of her skin, the feel of her taut, lean frame against his, proved Mahmoud wasn’t a saint. Needing to adjust himself, he tried to jostle them silently without drawing too much attention to what he was doing.
    Tyka let out a nearly silent chuckle, then spoke in a low whisper. “I didn’t realize the idea of being caught was so exciting to you.”
    He let out a low sigh before replying, “It’s the idea of being caught with you, Ms. Tyka.”
    She pressed against him, and the only indication he had of her feelings was the rise and fall of her back against his chest. “Is that why you arranged to have your French courtesan interrupt us?”
    He took a deep breath, then nipped the edge of her ear with his teeth, earning him a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Assassin Blonde, I had no idea you cared.”
    â€œIs that what you call me, Mahmoud? Assassin Blonde ?”
    â€œAnd what if I do?”
    â€œWell, it’s not exceptionally inventive, is it?”
    â€œWhat would you prefer?”
    â€œ Assassin Sexy .”
    He laughed now, a bit too loud, and it earned him an elbow in the ribs. “Well, Ms. Tyka, that goes without saying.”
    They heard the sounds of pots and pans being moved, and Birdsong turned on some music. Jazz. Madeleine Peyroux. A soulful song drifted through the house and gave them a bit of sound cover.
    â€œWell,” she said, still whispering but a bit less carefully, “sounds like it’s dinnertime.”
    â€œYes,” Mahmoud replied. “I suppose that means we’re stuck here for a bit.”
    He could feel her breathing quicken, and he pulled her even closer. “Perhaps you wish you were with your French whore?” she asked, trying to get some space from him in a closet that allowed almost no movement.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Assassin Sexy . She’s a friend of mine, someone I fucked for convenience for a while. Perhaps you’re just jealous? Why don’t I prove how much I want you, and only you?”
    â€œThat will be a bit hard to do in this small closet, don’t you think?”
    â€¡â€¡â€¡
    Tyka was