Tuesday’s Tales – Discovery(ies)
When last we left Debbie Jenkins, she had just received an invitation for a drink from her boss– her very hot, newly single, boss she has secretly been in love with for five years.
He leaned her back into the pillows, and his hand drifted like a summer breeze under her shirt to caress her breast. Her eyes fluttered back in her head. His cool silky fingers slid behind her back and with one flick released the hooks on her bra. Deb gasped. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever experienced. The moment couldn’t have been choreographed more deftly by Ang Lee.
As his palm stroked her exposed nipple –
A blood curdling scream echoed down the hall.
Oh crap! Chills ran across Debbie’s skin as the frantic scream rang out. Olivier jumped up from the sofa. Buttons shot in different directions as her cotton blouse popped under the pressure.
“Shit!” She scrambled up from the compromising position.
Olivier took one regretful glance at her bare chest and tossed her his jacket before he ran toward the scream. Debbie sat up and adjusted the torn blouse then wiped the corners of her lips that still tingled from his expert kiss.
Her chest rapidly rose and fell but she wasn’t sure if it was from her make out session with the boss or her fear that something was terribly wrong. Because something was wrong. Aside from the blood-curdling scream, the hairs stood on the back of her neck and a dark feeling that she was being watched confirmed the fact that all was not right.
She slipped her arms in his jacket and followed after him.
Even before she left her mom with the kids something had just felt…off. She couldn’t explain it any more than she could deny it.
The quiet murmur of voices and a flickering light spilled into the shadowed hall. Debbie’s heart thumped as muffled sobs echoed over the main entrance of the museum. What in the hell? She stepped into the marble floored lobby.
A group huddled around something on the floor by the Pre-Columbian wing caught her attention. Her ballerina flats clip-clopped in the wide space as she hurried to inspect. Olivier spoke into his phone. Even in the dim lighting his tan face appeared pale. His hushed voice quivered as he spoke in French.
Marvin the night watchman held his wife Melanie, who lay limp in his arms. My God, what happened? He walked her toward the lounge at the other end of the building.
Sam ushered them from the room and turned when he heard her footsteps. “Debbie, stay back you don’t want to see this.”
What the hell was he still doing here? “Why? What is it?”
He rushed toward her and blocked her access. Debbie craned her neck to see around Sam’s thin frame.
All the blood in her body fell to her feet and a wave of horror gripped her spine sending chills over her skin. “Ohmygod!
That’s Isell Ansler.”
Her gaze fell to the floor staring into the lifeless eyes. The woman’s blood spilled over the grey marble and reflected the emergency lighting with a sickening hue of crimson. Debbie’s arms and legs trembled. She stumbled and fell into
“Whoa there, Jenkins. I got you.” His hands caught her by the shoulders and steadied her.
Her mouth filled with bile, and her stomach heaved. Champagne and strawberries spewed out over Sam’s white Oxford.
“Ewww…Jenkins, couldn’t you turn your head.” He let go of her and shook his hands like girl.
“Oh God, Sam. I’m so sorry. What happ—” She turned from the sight of the dead woman and came face to face with Olivier. His eyes blazed with fury and she shrank back.
“You need to go home, Deborah.” His gaze landed on Sam and uncomfortable silence stretched between the two men.
Debbie gulped and glanced back to Sam whose face lined in defiance. The two men stood in their silent faceoff for a long moment. None of the situation made any sense. A dead woman and the two men were in a standoff.
The sounds of approaching sirens cut through the tension.
Olivier blinked. “Sam, take Deborah home, please.”
Invisible bands of anxiety clamped around her throat and she barely spoke the words. “I can drive myself home, but shouldn’t I stay to talk with the police?”
Both men yelled in unison, “No.”
“Okay….” Her voice squeaked and her head spun out of control. What the hell?
Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her down the back hall. “Do you need to get anything?”
He slipped into her office, grabbed her leather bag, then took her hand and ushered her quietly out the employee’s entrance. He pulled out his keys and pressed the remote to unlock his new midsized SUV. Some brand she didn’t recognize with a trident thingy emblem.
She slipped into the supple leather seat. The smell reminded her of Italian designer shoes.
Sam started the car and pulled onto the street. He drove several miles before turning on his headlights. The stench of strawberry vomit filled the cab of the car.
“Do you mind if I stop at my place to change? It’s just around the corner.”
“Sure. Are you gonna to tell me what’s going on? Who killed Mrs. Ansler?”
Sam didn’t speak, but he shot her a glance and surveyed her outfit. Torn shirt, boss’ jacket. It didn’t take a mathematician to figure it out. She swallowed hard.
“Debbie, you have no idea what you’ve gotten into. Why couldn’t you have just stayed home? I’m busting my ass to protect you and you’re getting nice and cozy with the enemy.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ansler. That’s what I’m talking about.” His voice roared through the cab. “I think he killed his wife or had her killed.” He beat his hand against the steering wheel. “Shit. Very unfortunate. And now my cover’s blown.”
“Sam, you’re talking and all I hear is blah, blah blah. Could you please speak in effin’ English? What the hell is going on?”
He pulled sharply into a parking garage of a high-rise, squealed his wheels into a space and jumped out. She followed him to an elevator. “Are you going to answer my question?”
He stared at her. “I work for the FBI. I’ve been deep undercover for the past few months.”
The elevator opened they stepped out. Two brawny men at the end of the hall took one look and started toward them in a sprint.
“Shit.” Sam pushed her back in the elevator and beat on the button until the door closed. “When we hit the garage duck down as low to the ground as you can and run like hell to my car.”
Come back next week to find out what happens. Thanks so much for stopping by, please leave me a comment. You can find more great Free reads HERE at the Tuesday’s Tales Blog.