CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Approaching the glass frontage of Elite Encounters, my mask was once again firmly in place. It had only been a short hop on the tube, and I spent my time surfing the net.

The first thing I researched was Richard Mullane. I’d meant to last night, but I’d been so horny that had flown right out of the window. If James was going to ask me any more questions about him, I wanted to be prepared.

Searching through Google images, I finally found a picture of the man. I winced and then groaned out loud, making the old lady next to me shuffle up a couple of inches.

It was a plus - she smelled of stale cigarettes and mothballs. What wasn’t so good was the fact that Richard Mullane was about thirty years old and had platinum blond hair. Clearly they started young in advertising.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. So, James Leverett knew I had been lying all along. How did I miss that? He’d given absolutely nothing away, and that tended to indicate the man was as skilled at subterfuge as I was, which mea