Page 31 of Live a Little!

“No.” His attention was caught by the forklift, which held a pallet of coffee sacks poised in midair, one lone sack teetering at the edge. “Watch what you’re doin’,” he shouted, just as the sack toppled off and crashed to theground.

Cynthia beamed with delight as it exploded on contact, sending coffee bouncing and flying until the floor was thick with fragrant blackbeans.

Eddie and Cynthia both rushed forward, but Eddie’s feet slipped out from under him as if he were a man walking on ball bearings, and he landed on his butt with anoath.

By planting those thin heels of hers, Cynthia managed to reach the burlap sack first. Pretending to stumble, she upended it until the last bean had bounced to the cement. She felt like stamping her stiletto heels in frustration when no incriminating packages tumbled to thefloor.

There was nothing there butcoffee.

After helping Eddie to his feet, she said, “I guess I picked a bad time to ask about wedding presents. I’ll catch you later,” and with a cheerful wave she returned to her office. Her mug was still empty, but she’d lost the taste forcoffee.

If the drugs weren’t in the coffee, they had to be hidden in the crates of chopsticks. As she reconciled invoices and drudged away with columns of numbers, a plan began to form in her head. As Jake was so fond of reminding her, she wasn’t a real FBI agent, she was a volunteer. And volunteers didn’t have to follow the same rules and regulations as real agents. In fact, as far as she was concerned, they didn’t have to follow any rules but theirown.

She was going to check out those “chopsticks.”

“Are you free for lunch today, Cynthia?” Agnes asked just before noon. The two women had become friendly and Cynthia hated to turn her down, but she had nochoice.

“I’m sorry, Agnes. I’ve got some errands to runtoday.”

“I understand,” the bookkeeper said in the resigned tone of one who is used to rejection. Guilt smoteCynthia.

“How abouttomorrow?”

“All right,I—”

“Oh, no. Wait. I’m getting my hair colored atlunch.”

“You’re so brave.” Agnes sighed enviously. “I wish I had the courage to color my hair. It’s always been mouse-brown, and now it’s mouse-gray.”

“My true color is mouse, too. Come with me. It’ll be fun.” Really, Agnes was such a nice lady, it would be a pleasure to get her started in the rightdirection.

“I couldn’t come back to work after lunch with a different color.” She patted her hair, with such a wistful expression on her face, Cynthia had tosmile.

“Tell you what. I’ll change my appointment and we’ll go together Saturday morning. Then you’ll have the whole weekend to get used to the new you.” She thought about suggesting they go clothes shopping afterward, but she was probably pushing it to get Agnes to agree to thehair.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that.” Agnes turned with a half eager, half fearful smile. “Do you think Ishould?”

“Absolutely. Take my motto—Live aLittle.”

The older woman sighed. “I wish I could be as bold and adventurous as you, Cynthia. I admireyou.”

“There’s nothing to it. Trust me on thisone.”

“I’ll think aboutit.”

Having salved her conscience, and fobbed Agnes off, Cynthia left for lunch a few minutes early and headed for the closest hardware store. She bought a crowbar, industrial flashlight, dark gloves and a black woolen skull cap. She glanced at her watch and saw she’d been almost anhour.

Drat. She’d hoped to have a filling lunch, but there wasn’t time. On her way back to the office, she passed a shoe and handbag store with a nifty looking black leather backpack in the window. Perfect! It would match her black leather miniskirt and she could stuff her purchases in it. While she was there she also bought a pair of black sneakers, more suitable for after-dark snooping than the strappyheels.

Then she headed back to work, running into a convenience store to grab a cereal bar and a chocolate bar. Hardly a nutritious lunch. Good thing she’d remembered her multi-vitamin this morning. She promised herself an extra serving of veggies when she gothome.

She arrived back at work breathless, but feeling awfully pleased withherself.

Was Jake thinking about her? Was he reliving last night as often as she was? She touched a finger to a tender spot on her wrist.Raunch Magazinehadn’t let her down. She’d written her own “orgasmic drama of legendary proportions.” Now she was ready for the curtain to go up again. Andagain.

Now that they’d broken the ice, and he knew about the magazine, she wondered if they could explore some of the ideas in Intimate Intermediates. There was that one with icecream…

“Cynthia.Cynthia!”

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