And, fact was, Bolton was of only peripheral interest to the good guys. We wanted Roberts and had little interest in Bolton’s not having blown the whistle on his buddy.Of course none of that was conveyed to him.Nelson’s questions to Bolton were quiet, but firm. Direct, nothing lawyerly about them.One hour and forty-five minutes of interrogation boiled down to five points:Bolton had not seen Eric Roberts in over a year.They had not talked on the phone during that time.The only communications were through encrypted emails.Roberts was terrified.Bolton had no idea where Roberts was.Florence Nelson, representing Senator Wainwright — and Gloria Allen, representing her own interests — agreed with the FBI’s plan. Bolton was to wait until Roberts contacted him again. Bolton was not to initiate anything. Might make Roberts skittish.All Eric Roberts messages would be seen simultaneously by Red Maplethorpe and his team. Even if Roberts started using library computers, they could geo-locate his. She was near her climax when she sensed his presence in the doorway. She looked up and saw the good Reverend holding the booth door open, his eyes aglow with lust, his mouth open."Please, please, let me kiss it!" he cried, his voice little more than a strangled gasp."Why preacher man, what are you doing here?" Joan cried in mock surprise.She spread her legs farther apart and lifted her skirt higher, her hand working at her excited cunt."Do you want to look at it?" she said, removing her hand."I want to suck it. Please, please..."Joan held her skirt high with both hands. "Why, Reverend, you're a naughty, naughty man." she said.Her cunt was covered with curly hair several shades darker than her blonde head, and it was wet, decidedly wet. She stepped away from the bowl, moved her feet wide apart, and arched herself out to him in invitation."Well, don't just stand there like a dummy; suck it, if that's what you want."The preacher dropped to his knees, grabbed her by the hips, and jammed.
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