“So, the legendary Adrian Ashford had a friend after all,” she teased. It was just before midnight as they walked through the New York Park, enjoying the spring air. In Adrian’s hand was the briefcase, and because of its important contents, he had it tethered to his wrist with piano wire. With each strand able to hold up to eight hundred pounds and far less conspicuous than a set of handcuffs, it ensured the case could not be stolen without somebody slicing off his arm or bringing powerful wire cutters. Up ahead was a man in his forties, sitting on a bench in a grey trench coat. Leaning beside him was a red umbrella. “The umbrella, that’s the sign. That’s him,” Adrian whispered to Jenny. She nodded and drew a dart from her purse, hiding it in her sleeve. She knew to always be prepared for the worst scenario.“You must be Mike Reese,” Adrian said with a smile as they approached. The man scrambled to his feet. “Do you have it?” “Mr. Reese, is that any way to talk to an old friend? Or. I've been accused at times of reading too much into a person's tone of voice, or choice of words, but believe me when I say I'm very good at deciphering such signals. It's where my woman's intuition lives and my closest friends know it. Some of them refuse to even speak with me on the phone if they're trying to keep a secret from me, like a surprise party or whatever. Rodney was hiding something and there was a tremor in his fingers to match the flutter in his voice."You want to give me a foot massage?" I asked, thinking it was a little odd perhaps, but there were certainly worse ways to end a date."Oh, God yes." Rodney licked his lips and I giggled, turning and moving away so I could lean against the car door and present the man with both of my feet in his lap."Okay, sure. I'd love a good massage." I grinned and watched the man remove my other shoe, inspecting it for a second, even lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply before setting it carefully aside."No tickling." I warned.
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