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An under appreciated/abused wife finds romance & sex.

She was half asleep when she heard him. His voice rang clear in the silence of the room.

She flinched, jerking back awake and then settled down again. Too tired to wonder who he thought he was talking to, she drifted off with a soft yawn.

Emma slept hard, but sometime in the night stirred, her body stiffening at the feel of Liam's body curled up against her own, one heavy arm over her hip, his hand splayed loosely over her abdomen. The panic that sharply spiked soon dissipated when she realized where she was and who he was. He must have rolled she realized, seeking comfort and warmth himself and it felt good. His warm breath fanned her clean hair, tickling her scalp. Smiling to herself, she let it be, feeling secure and protected and let herself drift back into the blackness.


Meanwhile, the silver haired man followed the woman and walked into the office. He was meeting Paul Lindeman, the Chairman of Pfizaxson, the largest drug company in the world.

The woman pointed him to a seat and he sat across the desk from Lindeman. The size of the desk meant that he was still a few meters away from him.

"So what the fuck happened?" asked Lindeman. He was fat. He was bald. And he was bombastic. Three things the silver haired man detested.

But he was the Chairman of Pfizaxson, so he basically ran the country. Years ago, he would have been called The President, but that had ceased with the end of democracy.

"We lost her," said the silver haired man. "But we'll find her again. Soon."

"The news stream said it was fucking carnage down there," said Lindeman, banging the desk.

Lindeman's antics didn't bother the silver haired man. He'd seen worse. He'd done worse.

"Yes, they killed eighteen men and critically injured two."

Lindeman looked across at him and raised his eyebrows. "So there were people with the girl?"

"Yes," said the silver haired man. "Liam Hansen and Carl O'Shaughnessy. It looks like she has business...."

Lindeman put his hand up and cut him off.

"Hang on there," he said. "You're telling me, that two men and a female scientist took out twenty of your crack Special Police Force members? Please, don't tell me that. Do you know how much money we give you to run the SPF? Do you?" he yelled.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Last year it was over fucking fifty, fucking million, fucking dollars. I was part of the committee that set up the SPF to protect the interests of our country and our corporations."

"Yes, sir," said the silver haired man. "I understand that. We will get her."

Lindeman wasn't satisfied.

"Dammit! Two men and a fucking girl scientist putting billions of dollars at risk...."

"Sir, if I may ask, what does the girl have that makes it imperative to kill her?"

Lindeman looked at him impassively, but his face was getting redder.

"No, you may not fucking ask. It doesn't fucking matter and it's none of your fucking business!" he yelled. "I want her fucking dead. Get it. D.E.A.D.... Dead!"

The silver haired man nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"And who the hell are the other fucking guys anyway?"

"Sir, one is Liam Hansen...."

Lindeman smashed the table again with his fist.

"You already told me that!!"

"Sir, you don't understand...."

"What the fuck? I don't understand...."

The silver haired man interrupted him.

"Sir, Liam Hansen is his real name, but seven years ago he worked under the name of Patrick Flannery."

Lindeman went quiet and his face looked worried.

"Patrick Flannery? The Patrick Flannery? From Australia."

The silver haired man nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Lindeman looked more thoughtful now, less antagonistic.

"He destroyed Hardacre Industries. He killed all their management....He murdered the Chairman and CEO on tape and had it sent to every corporation...."

"Yes, sir," said the silver haired man. "He did."

"And you never caught him?"

"No, sir," he said.

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