Solomon was the chief liaison between all the diverse and acronymic Intelligence agencies — CIA, DIA, INR, DISA, NSA, ETC. — and the covert — I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you — Operations groups that had been roughly consolidated in the wake of 9/11."Duh!" I said. "The man has connections. If there were something he thought he needed to know and he couldn't find it out, I'd be worried."Solomon had scored points with me for brilliantly orchestrating the rescue of a couple of VIPs who had been kidnapped by 'foreign nationals', a euphemism I had learned was used inside the Intelligence Community when they meant 'Bad Guys not from around here'. I had an equal amount of juice with him because I had been instrumental in freeing the hostages without calling attention to him or his operatives.Solomon didn't visit socially. If he was here, there was a problem. If Solomon had a problem, it was probably something terribly important that couldn't be solved by conventional means, up to. He set her down for a second, reached in her car and popped the trunk. Digging around, he found the emergency blanket her dad insisted she keep in there. Bringing it back around he spread it on the hood. "Don't want you wriggling around and getting my dick burned, darlin'." He once again grabbed her up, and laid her spread eagle on the hood. He pulled a knife from his pocket and swiftly cut her panties at both hips. He tugged them from under her ass, and put them briefly to his nose and grinned before stuffing them in his pocket. She now lay completely exposed, and tried to cross her legs and hide her most intimate parts from his view. Grabbing her ankles, he tugged her towards the edge of the car, uncrossing her legs as he pulled. Her lower lips separated, creating a pouty slash that dripped onto the blanket underneath. A tangle of red curls at the top made her pussy look like it was on fire. And it felt like it was. Shelby didn't understand why, because she didn't want him to.
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