Free Fontanas Trouble by T C Archer Page A

skin with her lips as she whispered, “See the window up
there?” The shudder she felt in his body sent a jolt straight between her legs.
Yep, this was the way to play war games. “The window,” she repeated and pointed
at the side of Jimmy’s building facing the alley.
    He looked toward the building.
“The window with the sash propped up with the piece of wood?”
    “I’m not positive what room it
is,” she said. “The plans weren’t detailed—but it’s close to Jimmy’s office.”
    “The window is three centimeters
from the ground,” he said. “Can you get up there?”
    “One of those crates over there
will hold my weight. You ready?”
    He looked at her, and a corner of
his mouth curved upward. “I’ve never walked in the front door when trying to
break into a place.”
    “The best defense is a good
offense. I’ll wait two minutes, then go in. You sure you can handle those
boys?”
    His smile widened. “Somebody’s
got to save this space station.”
    She laughed. He dropped a kiss on
her mouth, then sauntered across the street and into the vulture’s den. She
watched him through the plate-glass window. The men inside turned as he
entered. He strolled up to the bar and said something to the two men behind the
counter. The men looked at each other, and the taller man—he stood two meters
tall and skinny as a laser beam—raised his chin and answered. Brent stepped to
the side out of view. She would love to watch him in action. Better yet, drag
him back out here and straddle him right there in the alley.
    What would he have done if she’d
shoved him against the wall and impaled herself on his cock? She recalled the
thick rod inside her ass, and a shiver slid down her spine. The man wasn’t shy.
She was half-surprised he hadn’t fucked her in the alley. Maybe when
they got the codes from Jimmy, they could stop to finish what they’d started
that first day outside Spacer Jack’s.
    Brent’s two minutes were up. He
still stood talking to the men. Fontana retrieved the heavy end of the pool cue
from its case and stuffed it into her waistband at her back. She fitted her
jacket over the cue as she shifted her attention to the guard. His gaze was
straight ahead. She slipped from the alley, walked up the sidewalk a few meters,
then dashed across the street between traffic. The guard gave no indication
he’d noticed her, and she ducked into the alley beside Eastside Billiards.
    She slid a crate under the window
and piled a second smaller one on top, then climbed up. Her fingertips just
reached the windowsill. From her vantage point, the only thing visible inside
the room was a white ceiling. Fontana jumped up and latched on to the
windowsill and started to pull herself up. A globe light fixture came into
view, then a black-and-white-checkered tile wall opposite the window. A tile
wall meant a washroom. A men’s restroom, she realized once the stalls and
porcelain urinals came into view. Who would be expecting a trained woman to
attack from the men’s bathroom? That should send the actors running for their
mamas. From her vantage point, she couldn’t tell if any of the stalls were
occupied.
    Fontana heaved herself over the
sill, threw one leg through the opening, then pulled the other leg over as she
touched down inside. Three stalls stood on the left, and sinks jutted from the
wall on the right. Straight ahead on the opposite wall hung two urinals
separated by partitions and the entrance door. She squatted to look under the
stall doors into the toilets. Empty. She strode to the entrance and eased the
door open a crack. To the left, the hallway led to the poolroom, where one of
the pool tables was in sight.
    Brent’s voice drifted down the
hall. “How about you? You think you can kick my ass?”
    Fontana grimaced. If he wasn’t
careful, those men would strip him and send him running, an element that seemed
to be the theme of his fantasy.
    “I’ll take you on,” said a man
with a gravelly voice,