G-Men: The Series (33 page)

“Mrs. Dennison,” she started, “I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay; he can stay. He
is
the baby’s father.”

There, it was out now. I could officially be thought of as a skank at my OB/GYN’s office.

Whatever.

She backed out through the door, telling me Dr. Bailey would be in shortly.

I looked over at Slate. He was thoroughly proud of himself for the commotion he’d caused.

“How did you know I was here, Slate?” I was perturbed at his smugness. No - I was pissed.

“I know every move you make, Diamond.”

“Why in the hell are you still calling me that? You know my name now.”

“I won’t call you Samantha. It’s too hoity-toity.”

“Hoity-toity? Is that a real term, Slate?”

“Okay, how about
pretentious
then?”

“I’m impressed. Then call me ‘Sammie’ like other people do.”

“That’s what the rat bastard calls you.”

“How about I tell Jack that he can’t call me that anymore; that he has to use my pretentious name of Samantha, will that satisfy you?” I asked.

He smiled, gracing me with that scrumptious dimple. “If you promise you’ll enforce it with him, then yeah, I’m down with that.”

He sauntered over to where I was still laying on my back, feet up in stirrups and lifted the paper cover up to take a peek.

“Slate, for crying out loud, a little privacy would be appreciated here.”

“Aww babe, it’s not like I haven’t seen, touched or tasted it all before,” he smirked. He put the cover back down and leaned over, giving me a kiss on the lips.

“Why are you here?”

“Just being supportive of you, babe, in your delicate condition. I want to hear what the doctor has to say, make sure that you’re doing everything that you’re supposed to be doing and that things are progressing like they should.”

Just then, Dr. Bailey came bustling in with my chart. He was in his late fifties, a no-nonsense type of man with snowy white hair and bushy eyebrows to match.

“Well, Samantha, I see we have your husband with us today.”

Holy crap.

Dr. Bailey hadn’t been my OB/GYN with Lindsey, though he had all of my records from my earlier doctor who had since retired.

He held his hand out to Slate. They shook hands. I hoped like hell that Slate didn’t blurt out anything inappropriate.

“Pleased to meet you, doctor. I wanted to be here to make sure you have all of the information you may need.”

Dr. Bailey clearly looked perplexed at the moment, glancing over my chart once again.

“I’m not sure if the record shows that my blood type is O negative. I know that’s important information if Sammie has a negative blood type,” Slate explained.

Dear God - Slate could’ve simply asked me that himself and saved me from . . . this!

Dr. Bailey was scratching his forehead now, turning over various sheets contained within my file.

“Your wife’s blood type is B positive. You didn’t know that, Mr. Dennison?”

Here we go . . .

“No, Doc, I’m not Mr. Dennison. I’m the baby’s father.”

At that moment, I very much wanted to bury myself under the paper sheet. I seriously thought about just pulling it up over my head, but then realized it would leave my crotch area exposed for everyone to see.

“I see,” Dr. Bailey replied, with a slight frown. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, there’s no cause for worry then Mr. - ?”

“You can call me Slash.”

Oh. Dear. Lord.

“Ok then, Mr.
Slash
,” he said, turning towards me now, giving a slight nod of his head as if clearing his mind of confusion.

The doctor pulled the paper sheet down a bit, squeezing some of the warm, clear gel onto my abdomen, rubbing the wand around so he could pick up the baby’s heartbeat.

“Nice and strong,” he said.

I watched as Slate caught the sound of it and noticed a look of pure joy flicker across his handsome face.

The nurse came into the room, signaling that it was time for Dr. Bailey to do my pelvic exam.

“Mr. Slash, if you’ll step outside for just a moment, you can return once the nurse leaves and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have.”

“Sure, Doc,” he said, giving me a wink. “Be right back, Sammie.”

As soon as Dr. Bailey finished, he snapped off his latex gloves and instructed me to sit up. I wrapped my paper sheet around my lower half as Slate re-entered the examination room.

“Everything looks good and on schedule,” Dr. Bailey reported. “Your weight gain is appropriate. Your vitals are perfect. You have no complaints, so I would say just continue doing whatever it is you’re doing and I’ll see you next month.”

“Doc,” Slate started, “I do have a question.”

Dr. Bailey looked up from where he was making notations on my chart. “Yes, Mr. Slash?”

“Is it safe for us to continue having sex regularly?”

I. Am. Going. To. Kill. Him.

I actually saw Dr. Bailey blush. Slate didn’t bat an eye waiting for an answer. Dr. Bailey cleared this throat.

“Yes, Mr. Slash, it’s safe to continue having sex as long as Samantha’s comfortable with it. I would caution against anything too… . . . rough or strenuous.”

“Got it,” he said. “Thanks, Doc.”

Dr. Bailey left the room. Slate stood there with a dopey grin on his face. I was fuming.

“Would you mind waiting outside for me? I’d like to have some privacy while I get dressed,” I hissed at him.

“Are you pissed, babe?”

“Nooo,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “Why in the hell would you think I was pissed?”

“We’ll talk outside,” he replied, slipping out the door.

Once outside, Slate was on my heels as I headed to where my Mercedes was parked.

“Hey, slow down, Sammie. Want to tell me what the hell has you in a snit? Is it some type of hormonal thing?”

I clicked the remote unlocking the car door and opened it. “No, Slate, it’s not a ‘hormonal’ thing. It’s more of an ‘assholey’ thing. You made an ass out of yourself in there and embarrassed me to boot.”

I started to get into the driver seat, but his strong arm reached out and pulled me back to him.

“Hey,” he snapped, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you Sammie, but my mother told me that I should find out if your blood type was negative, too. She said it could cause complications with the baby.”

“Okay, so now your
mother
knows about this?”

He nodded, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Why couldn’t you just have asked
me
about my blood type?”

“Because I haven’t seen you since I talked to her about it.”

“Whose fault is
that
?”

“Oh, I see. You’re pissed ‘cause I haven’t been by to
service
you,” he chuckled.

“That has
nothing
to do with it, Slate. It was you barging into the exam room, making sure that everyone knew you were not my husband, asking about having sex and calling yourself Slash for Chrissake. Of course it pissed me off!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, pulling me to him. “I’m sorry babe. I really am. I can’t blow my cover though. You understand about that, right?”

I nodded against his chest.

“I’m going to be there for you, Sammie. I guess I didn’t tell you that before. I mean, if you want me there, that is.”

“I do, Slate,” I replied softly, hugging him. “Just maybe a little more low-key, though?”

“You got it, babe.”

He kissed my lips softly several times, giving a low groan as I pulled away to get into the car.

“Have you been keeping the door unlocked for me?”

“Yep,” I said. “For all the good it has done.”

“I’ll be there when I can. I miss you, too.”

With that he was gone, quickly and quietly disappearing around the corner. It was almost magical, at times, the way he would turn up unexpectedly. He could disappear the same way. I sighed as I started the car and headed home.

^{chapter 42}

I’d slept restlessly all through the night. I wasn’t sure if it was because I kept hoping Slate would pop in and surprise me with a mind-blowing orgasm, or because I was simply on edge and had no clue why. I finally drifted off to sleep around five in the morning. I was dozing somewhat peacefully at 10:30 a.m. when my cell phone rang. It was Becky. I was still in somewhat of a sleepy fog when I answered.

“Sam, turn your television on right now to the local news on Channel Seven. You have got to see this.” She hung up before I had a chance to ask her what the hell was going on.

My hand felt around for the remote on my nightstand. I switched the television on, and rolled over on to my side to watch as I hit the buttons for Channel Seven. Apparently, whatever was happening had pre-empted the regularly scheduled programming.

There was a man in a suit and tie talking into a multitude of microphones attached to a wooden podium. At the bottom of the screen, lettering was scrolling by which identified him as U.S. Attorney General Joe Hodgett. He was addressing a roomful of press and media reporters. It looked like there were local authorities in attendance as well.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, “earlier this morning, federal agents and special task forces executed a number of search and arrest warrants in Indianapolis, Fort Wayne, and Ohio. FBI agents, along with the assistance of U.S. Marshalls and local law enforcement personnel have arrested and taken into custody forty-two members of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club, both in Fort Wayne and Indianapolis; one warrant remains outstanding for a club member who remains at large. In the following days, it’s expected that additional indictments will be handed down as the investigation reveals the identification of others who may have been involved in these criminal activities. These indictments include racketeering, mail fraud, money laundering, extortion, drug trafficking, insurance fraud and various federal firearms charges.”

I stopped listening to what this guy was saying as my attention was drawn to the video that appeared on the backdrop screen behind the podium.

I recognized him by his lean, muscular build and his swagger as he led one of the bikers over to a paddy wagon in cuffs.

He had on a navy blue tee shirt that had large, white letters across the chest that read: ‘F B I.’ He had on a matching navy blue ball cap with the same insignia. I had to smile. Only Slate would wear the ball cap turned backwards on his head, like some gangster agent.

I watched in awe as he went back inside the clubhouse and came out with another one in cuffs. I recognized this one as ‘Hammer.’ He used to come into Jewels with Slate and the others.

Another FBI agent caught my eye as he was struggling with a biker. It was Taz! Holy shit! Taz was an agent as well? He seemed to fit in so perfectly with the OMC. I remembered Slate saying that Taz was “living the dream.”

I watched as my G-man loaded the paddy wagon with more members of the club. This had to be big, really big. Chills ran through me as I watched the agents and task force members corral the bikers into several paddy wagons. There was yellow crime scene tape surrounding the entire property.

The voice of U.S. Attorney Joseph Hodgett once again caught my attention:

“In conclusion, the ongoing investigation will likely take weeks, if not months, to identify everyone involved in what has been termed one of the largest and most extensive criminal networks in Indianapolis and throughout the Midwest. Today’s initial arrests reflect our dedication in dismantling a criminal organization that pumped a deadly mixture of drugs, violence, and fraud into this city. These charges also serve as a reminder that if you’re involved in organized crime in Indianapolis, if you assist these groups in any way, you will wake up one morning soon to the sound of federal agents at your door.”

Once again, I felt shivers run up and down my spine as I wondered how much of a role Jack had played in this criminal network. He was at work now. I wondered if he was even aware that this had taken place. My cell phone rang, and I jumped. It was Becky again.

“So, did you recognize any of them?” she asked excitedly.

I’d shared with Becky that Slate wasn’t interested in Lindsey after the July 4th cook-out. I’d not shared anything else, per his instructions to me. As far as Becky knew, Slate had left Indianapolis to take care of some pressing business and would be back at some point. She still considered him to be ‘shady’ as she put it.

“A couple of them, yeah,” I replied. “I think one of them was called ‘Hammer’ and I definitely saw ‘Flush’ too.”

“As in he can “flush” the rest of his sorry-ass life down the toilet?” she asked, laughing.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t recognize anyone else, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Just thought maybe one of those guys in the FBI shirts might have caught your eye. They are so damn sexy, aren’t they?”

Becky couldn’t possibly have recognized Slate. The one and only time she’d seen him was for about ten seconds. That was months ago, plus his hair was longer back then. She was simply fishing.