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tvchi · 6 days ago

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Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, Prt 2

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Allusion to sexual intercourse, Profanity

Pairing: black male x black female Words: 3,642k

A/N: Here is Part 2 of this series. I'm really going to try to work on getting these parts out at least once a week. Again, don't hold me to that because life be lifing!!! This part is very logistical and technical. If crime, espionage, and cerebral thrillers aren't your thing, I understand. Please scroll. While you may need these details to understand some of the premises of the story and what may happen later on, you will probably pick up on things later on.

Summary: Y/N tries to regain her composure while meeting Terry. Amused, Terry throws a wrench in her plans while running into someone who could be the key to this entire case. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rendered speechless, you look around, trying to gain your composure and decide whether you will play along. Your heart fluttered in reaction to his gaze and the warmth that emanated from his presence. Usually, you were a lioness strolling fearlessly through a den of vipers. But today, you were as timid as a fawn as his eyes roamed your body. Your brain screamed for you to say something before this became a noticeable and awkward pause. If acting like he didn't meet you at the museum was his direction, then that's the direction this would take. After all, you just bumped into each other, and you never got his name or anything else.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N Olisa." He smiled brightly at your response while you wondered whether you should have come clean to Director Moore about your encounter. You sat down at the only empty chair in the room to the left of Director Moore's desk.

"Now that you two know each other, Olisa, I need you to brief us on what you have found on the case so far and start from the beginning so that we can get ASAC Richmond up to speed."

"Right," you started, trying to gain the resolve to forget the set of grey-blue peering at you from the right. "Well, for the past three months, I have been in the field working with other operatives on Operation Green Ledger, investigating large-scale money laundering within a network of shell companies designed to conceal stolen wealth accumulated through drug trafficking and high-priced art.

We believe that a group called the Ghost Syndicate has been partnering with art powerhouse Elysian Art Consortium (EAC) to smuggle drugs within the art purchased by some of the major gangs and cartels here in the US Several silent auctions disguised as showcases have been happening. In the area more than usual.

In 2021, Harborview Heights was home to only three art museums. Its population is about 600,000, and its average income per household is $60,000. In 2024, the number of art museums and showcases doubled even though the population has only increased by 50,000 and its average income per household, adjusted for inflation, is about $70,000."

"That's not nearly enough money to buy and sell art at that rate," Terry chimed incredulously.

"Exactly. We noticed that this was happening in more than just Harborview. It's happening in Pinehurst, Kingston Circle, and Cedarwood. These surrounding towns are only maybe within a 60-mile radius of each other. So we started looking into the interwebs to see if there was any chatter about any new players in town. After weeks of searching, SA Donovan intercepted a series of encrypted communications between the CEO of EAC and a buyer by the name of Muammar Gadaffi."

“The Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gadaffi?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That's the one"

"Hmm"

"Right. As I asked some of my contacts in the CIA, they assured me there has not been any chatter from that family and anyone from the US in years, especially not in art or stolen artifacts."

"SA Donovan got me into one of these showcases that our CEO talked about with the cover, Alana Thomas. While there, I noticed that most people on the guest list weren't even Harborview residents. In fact, most of them flew in from out of the country. I made a contact that night, posing as an art enthusiast and buyer for an affluent family. I asked about how to bid on pieces and when they had auctions.

"The contact let it slip that the event I was attending was, in fact, a silent auction for some of the pieces but that he didn't think I would be interested in this month's pieces and to come back next month. Then some other operative bugged the place, posing as museum patrons, chaperones for field trips, etc." I continued.

"We are hoping that Olisa's Mark would provide fruitful information given his status in the EAC. It has been five grueling months, and more bids have taken place without knowing much about how to even receive a formal invite to bid. The invitations are heavily encrypted. Apparently, the designer used to be one of our own," Director Moore let out in frustration.

"Well, I've been formally invited as a plus one to the silent auction in two weeks. I seemed to impress one of the higher-ups at a company party last week. Adrian, my Mark, is curating the event and handling the guest list. I sent a copy over. So far, more than half of those people are major players in cartels worldwide. I am close to getting a handle on how first contact is made between the art dealers for EAC and the buyers. The key encryption on their computers changes every 18 hours."

Terry nods slowly, lips pursed in contemplation. His breathing slows, eyes trained on you as if he anticipated your next words. Your eyes go down to his big hands. They were strong and defined. The slight calluses on his fingertips and various small, healing scars on his knuckles told you he wasn't just pushing papers in his office. His fingernails were neatly trimmed and clean, tapping the arms of the seat he occupied. He stopped tapping when he noticed that you stopped speaking and were staring at his hands. You cleared your throat to relieve the tension that was building up in your chest.

"I'm assuming you are here with information about increased activity from the cartels," you said.

"No. I'm here because we need to wrap this up as quickly as possible. There's something big coming up the pipeline and we will need all hands on deck. We are asking everyone to clear their desks. The timeline is four months."

You laugh. "It took three to get an invite and look at the guest list. This is grade-A cyber encryption. There's no way we can wrap this in four months!" You look at Director Moore, eyes wide, and plead for help.

"Olisa, ASAC Richmond will help you in this endeavor. We know that you are making some headway, but we are going to need all the help we can get if we are to meet the deadline. Please share the rest of your intel and show him around."

"From operative to babysitter and secretary. My how the 'best and brightest' have fallen." Terry chuckles as he peers at you intently.

"And when you're done being a smart ass, make sure he has a copy of the case files."

You purse your lips in annoyance and then pull them into a tightly lined smile.

"Yessir," you say. You turn to Terry, sitting in the chair, legs agape and elbows pressed against the arms of the seat. Your eyes were drawn to how muscular his legs were. Even underneath those suit pants, you could tell that he was well-toned. Quickly reverting your eyes to his face, you said, "Follow Me."

He rose from his seat, his build towering your frame. You two left the director's office and headed down the stairs. You started introducing him to everyone you passed by name, title, and what role they played in the case.

He greeted every last one with a congenial, dashing smile that reached his eyes and a "nice to meet you" or an "I'll try not to bother you too much, I promise." Once you finished introducing him to Brooke and apologizing for her lewd remarks, you stopped by the office with his placard beside the door you spotted while you were walking him over to Brooke.

"And this is you. SA Hilt will be coming over shortly with a copy of those case files you wanted, and if you need anything else, SA Donovan will be more than happy to assist you," you concluded, turning to face the door.

"What if I want you to assist me?" he asked sharply.

"Excuse me?" you replied, half-turned.

"You told me about everyone else you're pawning me off to. But what if I need you?" That flash of grey seized you once more, threatening to hold you hostage until an acceptable answer shot up from your mouth.

"I'm not sure in what situation you would need me."

"I can think of a couple of situations," he said mischievously. With your brow furrowing from his surprising lewdness, you turned around fully to face him.

"From my understanding, we are attacking this from different angles. I'm supposed to stay with the Mark and I supposed you'd be posing as one of the buyers. Until the last 48 hours leading up to the auction, I'm not sure why you would need me."

"Well, for one," he started, folding his arms across his chest, "it seems like you know this case inside out and have been working this case since day one. Something stored in you may be the key to how we can get it; you just can't place it yet. Not sure how much you know about me," he stood and strolled towards you, eyes fixed on yours, "but I've been told that I'm pretty good at getting things that I want." Your body quivered at the heat of his gaze.

"So advancing on operatives in the field, then showing up at their site pretending not to know them is how you get what you want?" you asked heatedly. The corners of his lips curled.

"Well, actually, this is our first time being introduced. You marched off before I could tell you my name." His reply was swift, as though he anticipated the question. You assessed him, still trying to figure out his angle.

"As I said, the other operatives will be here with you. I'm mostly in the field. I was here to collect some things before reporting to my post as assistant professor." He looked at you intently for a moment. Then, his demeanor changed to that of indifference.

"I'll walk you out."

"No need. Besides, I'm the one that knows my way around."

"Are things always this difficult with you?"

"Difficult," you said with a raised brow bordering on annoyance.

"Yes. Difficult," he repeated.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir, but the only difficult thing about me at this present moment is the energy I would need to conjure to deal with an outsider coming into an investigation I spent months on and asking me not only to speed up my timeline but also calling me 'difficult' in the process," you replied poignantly. As you finished, he looked at you rather amused. "Is something funny?"

He turned and walked behind his desk. Looking at the files on his desk and shuffling them around, he said, "Yeah, but I don't think HR would share my sense of humor. I'll keep it to myself, but I think I'm changing my opinion on 'difficult.' You wear it well."

His eyes hadn't left his desk once. Your face stalled, not knowing if you preferred the heat of his gaze or the coldness of his nonchalance wrapped in a sultry yet suggestive tone. "I guess I'll just find you. Thank you, SA Olisa."

The finality in his tone urged you to move towards the door and out of his office. You weren't sure what was happening, but you needed to get a hold of yourself to see if you were going to last the next three months under this man.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

TERRY

I watched her walk through the glass doors of the empty office, her curvy frame gliding down the hall. I never thought I would see her again let alone standing in Director Moore's Box. If I'm anything, it's intrigued.

I wanted to know her story, how she wound up here, how she could dissociate from her marks after an assignment was over, why this case meant so much to her, or why she couldn't look me in the eyes for more than three seconds at a time. I wondered whether the latter was partly because she felt that same rush of electricity I felt when we touched yesterday.

I pushed thoughts of Y/N aside as I began to look at the files in this case. A lot was riding on this, and I needed to give this all of my attention. A knock came to the door.

"Come in," I said without looking up.

"Would you like anything for lunch, sir? A couple of us are ordering." SA Brooke Donovan said with a bright smile.

"It's lunch already? I didn't realize."

"Well, technically, it's 2:00. But we just now decided on where everyone wanted to eat from."

I chuckled. "Okay, then I'll have whatever you're having."

"Okaaaaaaay, Sir," she replied with a bright, spirited smile." Whatever you want."

I chuckled. Brooke was definitely the one who brought light to everyone's dark days. I am also well aware of my effect on people, especially women.

I worked through lunch and almost dinner reviewing the case files, looking for anything that was missed that could be a potential angle to work while everyone went through the other obvious roads. I even set up a case board inside my office to track all the information I gathered.

We needed to attack all fronts, but no one was posing as the transport. No delineation of the route taken to deliver the product since only the supplier knew where the product was stored. That would be the critical area of interception.

Another angle would be forcing a route change by making all parties involved aware that they were being watched. As I pondered these notions, my stomach growled. Heeding that warning, I stood up, packed my things, and headed out of the office in search of food.

Out of the Box and walking out of the campus's main library, I smelled her before I saw her.

Her long, toned legs walked down the aisle, a book in one hand and a cup in the other. The heels she wore made her calves and ass look like every man's dream. Her skirt fit snugly around her curves, stopping just below her knees. Her bell-sleeved blouse had a keyhole slit in the back that revealed her warm, mahogany skin. I watched her for a minute, moving to a desk in the corner of the library next to another self of books.

She moved intently, searching while removing several books and stacking them in her arms. Everything she did was poetic. The way she moved her locs out of her face, the way she placed the books she wasn't going to take with a single push of her index finger, the way she tilted her head upward as if making a mental note to revisit a topic later, all of it made me wonder.

I wondered what she thought about when no one required her to think about anything, what frightened her, what her favorite restaurant was, and what made her toes curl in heated passion. I haven't had a chance to contemplate hoisting a woman up by her legs and to drink from her well in a long while. Come to think of it, too long. Looking at her now, passions I forgot were there slowly rose, forming a tent in my slacks.

She placed them down on the counter at the front, where she exchanged pleasantries with the librarian, after which the librarian scanned the books and tucked them away underneath the counter. She strode to the front, and my feet followed, drawn.

When I finally reached the door, she was down the steps where some light-skinned dude was waiting on her. They embraced, and his hands trailed down to her lower back, then her ass, as he kissed her. A fire lit in my chest, my eyes glued to his hands. Then he opened the door to the car and let her climb inside.

As he shut the door, he turned and seemed to look at me. Still far off from the tall steps, I'm not sure how much he saw of my face, but pride settled into my feet like lead and wouldn't permit me to move. We stared briefly at each other, and I watched him walk to the driver's seat and drive off.

I'm not sure what is drawing me to this woman or what about her makes me want to break every finger on that man's hands for touching her, but I knew that the timeline on this case had just moved up.

I spent the next few days between the Box and my rental, visiting all the different sites of the case. I felt at home on the road because it allowed me to think out loud, from the most far-fetched ideas to the safest ones.

It also let me think about what I would do about my obvious attraction to Y/N. She's been running through my head lately, especially about how committed she is to her cover and the Mark. From how things looked the other night, he's familiar with her in ways that made me seeth wrathfully. While there was absolutely no place for an office romance, my body yearned for the weight and warmth of her. Whatever small disdain she has for me and my orders should deter me. Yet it does nothing but make me wonder what she sounds like, shouting expletives as I fill her with my girth.

God knows I love a good brat. He also knows I'm tired of going from home to home with no intent of lying my head in any one place. Not feeling safe enough to believe that I can have something permanent. Something good. Something that would stay with me as I aged.

Many of my cohorts share this sentiment, but some strive for 'happily ever after' anyhow. I then started to wonder what 'happily ever after' would look like for me. Who would be sitting beside me? Who would be in the back seat? What would home look like? What would it smell like? The last question or thought crashed into me with a strong wave. Would it quiet my mind if I gained all these things, and would the nightmares go away?

Quickly unlocking the safe of my mind and placing those intricate thoughts back in their place, I parked at the library's side entrance. I hopped out of the Mustang, grabbing my briefcase from the passenger's side. I made my way towards the steps.

"Excuse me," I heard. I turned slightly and saw him. "I was wondering if you worked here."

I studied him carefully, trying to decipher whether his question was rhetorical or genuine. When I didn't answer, he continued to speak.

"I've never seen you before, so I was wondering whether you worked here."

"Lots of people come through here. It is a university."

"Yea. That's true. It is a university. But most new people tend to be students, and it's heading towards the end of the semester. I also used to go here, and I know most of the people who work in this building. I've never seen your face before." That piqued your interest even further. There was little doubt that he had seen your face, or most of it, the other night.

"Well outside of the fact that there are over 300 graduate school programs, other agencies and programs utilize the university's libraries of work or research and are allowed day passes for a small fee. But you went here, so you knew that. So unless you work security around here or a cop, I'm unsure what you want from me."

"A grad student can afford a whip like that?" He whistled as his eyes ran the length of my car. "You must be paying tuition out-of-pocket."

I looked at my watch in feigned annoyance. "I'm late, so do you have a question for me, Officer?"

"Oh, I'm not a cop."

"No?" he moved closer to him, "You move like one."

His eyes never left mine as he spoke calmly. "Nah. I'm not a cop. I just have something precious inside. There's a lot of history there. Its beauty was meant to be displayed for all to see, but that doesn't mean that there aren't people looking to possess it for themselves."

"Okay, now I'm confused. Are you in security or art history?" I said sarcastically. I wanted to know how deep his obsession with Y/N ran and what lengths he would go to keep her.

He chuckled with an air of arrogance. "You can say it's a bit of both. I've always been fascinated by how curators can showcase the most priceless pieces of human history while being confident that no one will walk out the front door with them. By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't throw it. Do you stop everyone you don't recognize coming into the building or just the ones built like me?"

"Only the ones with that look in their eye," he said, almost sneering.

"Hmm. Not just what that look is."

"You know, the one that longs for more. For something they can't have"

"Oh, that one. Well, I've never had to steal anything. I either earned it or paid for it."

"Is that right"

"Yes. That's right. Oh, and I think that curators rest in knowing that their pieces are insured and protected by the police force. This is a pretty safe campus in a properly policed city. Unless…”

"Unless?"

"Unless, somehow, your valuable item has free will and can choose to walk out with whoever it chooses to. I really am late. It was very…interesting meeting you," I said with a slight grin and trotted up the steps with gleeful ease, knowing that the game clock had officially started.

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Check out Part 1 if you haven't already! Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! Part 3 coming soon.

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