If only she knew how his own hands were trembling. “You came,” he said, wincing when the words came out sounding choked and not a little surprised... Smooth, real smooth, he thought. He studied her, his hand still on the ignition key. She was wearing her hair up, tied into a loose knot. Those little wispy tendrils still managed to escape and curl along her slender neck, and it took him some moments to tear his eyes away. She only took a few quick glances at him while she fastened her seat belt,. Charles Keatering would deal with her. He fired up the keyboard and began typing. In the next room, the servers ran quietly, selected a file, and began to display it. At his desk, Charles Keatering watched as the forty inch monitor lit up. The system worked perfectly. It should have. He had paid enough to install it. There she was, on the screen. She was being escorted by two male jailers. They were big men, big and black. She was such a slut. She was wearing one of those white prison suits. More

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