Handcuffs and Lace 24 - Balls and Chain by Mia Watts

By Mia Watts
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
    Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 S Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118
    Balls and Chain
Copyright © 2011, Mia Watts
Edited by Darlena Cunha and Liza Green
Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-367-6
    Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic release: August 2011
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To the readers who wouldn’t let go of She’s Got Balls without a fight. This one, and the rest of the series, is for you.
Love, Mia Chapter One
    “Mr. Bahlson, are you refusing to help the United States Government?” The stony-faced agent wrinkled his forehead with concern, only on Agent Gifford, the forehead extended over the entire bald cranium and glinted in the light from the window behind him.
    “No,” Sam Bahlson corrected. “I didn’t say that. Your crew charged into my office, pulled me out of there and hauled me—where the hell am I anyway?”
“That’s inconsequential.”
“It’s inconsequential for you , maybe. For me? You just fucked up my Monday.” Sam put his hands on his hips. There was so much he wanted to rant about, but he sensed that ranting against the Federal Bureau of Investigation wouldn’t be the wisest choice.
Sam sighed. Agent Gifford sat back in his squeaky chair like a disappointed father figure trying to reason with a petulant five year old.
“Why am I in custody? What did I do that warrants the FBI sweeping into my office and dragging me to—seriously, where the hell are we?” Sam tried to get to the window to see if he could identify the downtown area.
A burly guy standing next to Agent Gifford’s desk, moved directly into Sam’s path. Sam threw his arms up in defeat and walked back to where he’d been standing.
“It’s on a need to know basis,” Gifford said.
“Can I at least call my boss and tell him I’m going to be late?”
Gifford exchanged looks with the beefcake who’d blocked Sam. “I’ll share information once you’re secured. For now, you’re going to be taking a little vacation.”
“What about my family? My job? My mortgage payments? What about my cat?”
“Your Uncle Sam will see to everything.” Gifford offered cryptically. “And you don’t have a cat, or nearby family.”
Shock jolted Sam. “How do you know that?”
“We’re the FBI. We know everything.”
“What did I do? Is it something I did?” Sam asked desperately.
“No, sir. I told you. You have information, and we simply need your help.”
Sam stared at him long and hard. He was a relative nobody, definitely not a threat to national security. “Why be secretive? Why not just ask? What do you think I know?”
All questions he’d asked and received no answer for already, but somehow asking them again felt clever. It was met with the same flat, tired look Sam had been given last time.
“Can you put me under house arrest or something? I have a life, and I’d like to keep it intact,” Sam told him. “You can’t just take me away from it. This is a free country,” he finished lamely.
Gifford’s answer was to push a button on his phone panel. A voice came on in response. Gifford leaned over the speaker. “Send in Agent Cheney.”
“Yes, sir,” the voice said.
“Mr. Bahlson, the United States Government has your best interests in mind. Trust us on that.”
“Agent Gifford,” Sam replied. “If the United States Government did have my best interests in mind, you’d quit taxing the shit out of me and leave me enough