sensual sip.
The combination of the words, the sound of his voice, and the intent had an immediate effect. She wore only a purple cotton camisole and plaid, drawstring pajama bottoms. Suddenly, the fabric was tickling her nipples, which had become erect. She caught herself squeezing her thighs together to contain her increasing arousal. She bet he was having an equally hard time.
This is how it went almost every night—the conversation and the excitement. She knew he wasn’t going to leave D.C. Eventually, she might move to Washington and pick up one of the jobs that had been offered. But not yet.
“Counselor, you’re taking advantage of me and America’s taxpayers. Hell, I could be the subject of a congressional investigation.”
“Don’t worry. I have friends in high places,” Katie giggled. She was referring to the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. But of course, Roarke worked for the new vice president, with special consent that was well beyond the reach of Congress.
Katie and Roarke had met during his investigation into what appeared to be an assassination attempt on Teddy Lodge. Lodge’s wife was killed, and Roarke’s inquiry led him to the law firm where Katie worked. Ultimately, the Secret Service agent determined that one of the senior partners in the prestigious Boston firm might be involved. However, like many of the people connected to Lodge’s early life, he was killed.
Roarke was instantly taken by Katie in every way: her quick wit, her mischievous attitude, her beauty, and ultimately, the other charms she revealed to him. She had the means to tame the former Special Forces soldier and bring out a sensitivity in Roarke he hadn’t known since childhood.
When he said he wanted Katie to move to D.C., he meant it. But his first impression of her never diminished. Katie Kessler came to her own decisions in her own time.
“Case closed,” she added. “Now, did you have a nice day, dear?” she cooed over the phone.
“Interesting,” he added in the way that interesting said much more than one word.
“Interesting good or interesting bad?”
“I worked with my buddy, Touch. Trying to come up with an FRT match for an acquaintance of mine.”
Roarke was always careful what he said on an open line. Katie was still learning.
“FRT? As in Facial Recognition Technology? If so, big problem with privacy issues.”
He was somewhat surprised she was conversant on the subject. Maybe he had said too much already. “Hey, I’m just trying to connect the dots,” he added, probably too late.
“Don’t you have any boy toys that are more reliable?”
“It’s getting there.” Why’s she doing this? He noticed the sexual tension was turning cold.
“Yeah, then why is the ACLU all over it?”
“Katie,” he chided.
“The guys using the technology surreptitiously take pictures of innocent people. They file them or they mistakenly ID perfectly honest citizens as illegals or criminals.”
“Katie!”
She ran right through his objection. “We litigated a case right here; a detention at Logan. We won a nice settlement. And you know the Tampa tests failed to ID a single suspect. Michigan? There were reports that police used FRT to ID women for sexual reasons and even intimidate political opponents.”
“You’re lecturing me.”
“I’m educating you about the abuses.” She was quite familiar and disturbed with the use of the technology at airports, including the system installed at Boston’s Logan after 9/11. “It submits innocent people to real-time lineups without probable cause, and often without a compelling security threat. Sounds Orwellian to me, and a violation of privacy.”
“Like a fingerprint is a violation?”
“Fingerprints aren’t secretly and automatically taken and instantly compared with others while you’re walking through a line to get a hot dog. Did you know that every time you go to an ATM you’re getting your picture taken? How far away are we from having
The combination of the words, the sound of his voice, and the intent had an immediate effect. She wore only a purple cotton camisole and plaid, drawstring pajama bottoms. Suddenly, the fabric was tickling her nipples, which had become erect. She caught herself squeezing her thighs together to contain her increasing arousal. She bet he was having an equally hard time.
This is how it went almost every night—the conversation and the excitement. She knew he wasn’t going to leave D.C. Eventually, she might move to Washington and pick up one of the jobs that had been offered. But not yet.
“Counselor, you’re taking advantage of me and America’s taxpayers. Hell, I could be the subject of a congressional investigation.”
“Don’t worry. I have friends in high places,” Katie giggled. She was referring to the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. But of course, Roarke worked for the new vice president, with special consent that was well beyond the reach of Congress.
Katie and Roarke had met during his investigation into what appeared to be an assassination attempt on Teddy Lodge. Lodge’s wife was killed, and Roarke’s inquiry led him to the law firm where Katie worked. Ultimately, the Secret Service agent determined that one of the senior partners in the prestigious Boston firm might be involved. However, like many of the people connected to Lodge’s early life, he was killed.
Roarke was instantly taken by Katie in every way: her quick wit, her mischievous attitude, her beauty, and ultimately, the other charms she revealed to him. She had the means to tame the former Special Forces soldier and bring out a sensitivity in Roarke he hadn’t known since childhood.
When he said he wanted Katie to move to D.C., he meant it. But his first impression of her never diminished. Katie Kessler came to her own decisions in her own time.
“Case closed,” she added. “Now, did you have a nice day, dear?” she cooed over the phone.
“Interesting,” he added in the way that interesting said much more than one word.
“Interesting good or interesting bad?”
“I worked with my buddy, Touch. Trying to come up with an FRT match for an acquaintance of mine.”
Roarke was always careful what he said on an open line. Katie was still learning.
“FRT? As in Facial Recognition Technology? If so, big problem with privacy issues.”
He was somewhat surprised she was conversant on the subject. Maybe he had said too much already. “Hey, I’m just trying to connect the dots,” he added, probably too late.
“Don’t you have any boy toys that are more reliable?”
“It’s getting there.” Why’s she doing this? He noticed the sexual tension was turning cold.
“Yeah, then why is the ACLU all over it?”
“Katie,” he chided.
“The guys using the technology surreptitiously take pictures of innocent people. They file them or they mistakenly ID perfectly honest citizens as illegals or criminals.”
“Katie!”
She ran right through his objection. “We litigated a case right here; a detention at Logan. We won a nice settlement. And you know the Tampa tests failed to ID a single suspect. Michigan? There were reports that police used FRT to ID women for sexual reasons and even intimidate political opponents.”
“You’re lecturing me.”
“I’m educating you about the abuses.” She was quite familiar and disturbed with the use of the technology at airports, including the system installed at Boston’s Logan after 9/11. “It submits innocent people to real-time lineups without probable cause, and often without a compelling security threat. Sounds Orwellian to me, and a violation of privacy.”
“Like a fingerprint is a violation?”
“Fingerprints aren’t secretly and automatically taken and instantly compared with others while you’re walking through a line to get a hot dog. Did you know that every time you go to an ATM you’re getting your picture taken? How far away are we from having
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