”“So who do we ask?” Joan wanted to know.“After lunch we go find the reporter who covered the murder so far,” I informed her.“I’ll get h...er name,” she said.“How do you know it wasn’t a man name Rocky Newton?” I asked.“Was it?” she asked me.“I have no idea,” I said with a laugh.“So okay, I’m gender biased,” she said with a smile. “But not as bad as the manager of the half way house.“You do have a point, but we can’t afford to let our biases show,” I said. Shit I was teaching her even though I did. "There was something else in the way Carter said that I would 'fit right in', and I arched an eyebrow. My curiosity piqued, I thought about it and answered, "Sounds interesting. When and where?"Carter put the hookah down and whipped out a Blackberry. "What's your number?"I gave it to him and a second later, I got a text message with the address and time. I nodded a confirmation."You gonna flake on me this time?" he asked with a grin.I shook my head. "Naw, man."He nodded. "And bring Sleeping. Are you interested in the job?”Jo had joined us, and before I could say anything, she piped up with, “Sure he is. John is a professional killer of wild hogs. I am his business manager as well as assistant hog killer.” We laughed at her last comment.I said, “How much are you willing to pay me to sweep your area once a week on Friday afternoons? Of course, any hogs I killed would belong to me. I sell the hogs as freshly killed at 20¢ per pound. For example, that there boar would weigh about 350. Her fingers fluttered over the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the grooves between each muscle, inching towards his most sensitive spot. He was already hard when her fingers closed over his length, drawing out a throaty groan from him. The fog of sleep started to clear from his eyes when her hand started to move up and down his engorged member, igniting the familiar sparks of desire in him.Biting her lip to hide her smile, she rolled on top of him before he even had time to react, propping.