Undercover Angel

The sultry blonde sat on the floor at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. When she finally captured his attention, she rose and sauntered away. He smiled, shut down his computer, and followed her, hitting the light switch as he exited the room.

Angel lowered her binoculars. "Any man who knows his pussy that well can't be all bad," she murmured to herself. She jotted a couple notes before packing up her surveillance gear and heading for home. There'd be nothing more to see tonight. The bedroom was wired, though, and she'd access that audio signal from her home office. Folks just didn't understand how simple wireless routers made her job. The voice-activated mike she'd planted sent its feed directly to the 'Net, so she could listen in real-time or download past logs.

Her downtown condo served as both a home and an office, and the sign on her door read "Undercover Angel." When she'd launched her P.I. business, friends had urged her to use the tagline "A Dickless Dick," but Angel instead opted for something less crass and more catchy for her Yellow Pages ad: "Devilishly Discreet Investigations." She firmly believed it was the reason she pulled in more business than her competitors—even though she made it perfectly clear in said ad that she would not do sting operations, unlike said competitors.

It was just unfair, she reasoned. Anyone could be seduced. Anyone. Given enough time and enough empathy, Angel knew she could trap any man. There was no conceit involved. She simply knew from years of experience that men of all ages found her quite irresistible—so much so that she was never entirely certain that her many other assets were even noticed, much less appreciated.

Angel kicked off her shoes in the foyer and peeled off her clothing as she padded toward her bedroom. After slipping into a pair of old sweats, she grabbed a bottle of SoBe Lean and headed for her office. She could hear the sound of Mr. Jacoby's voice as she entered the room.

"That's my beautiful girl," he crooned. "You're so soft. And you were very hungry. Weren't you, Delilah love?"

The thrumming purr carried over the computer speakers, and Angel imagined him scratching the cat just beneath its ears. Her own tom picked that moment to vault into her lap and somehow managed to look both perplexed and pleased when he didn't find the source of the purring.