Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Chapter 2 of Deadly Deception

Chapter 2


Denver suburb

Two hours later

Twenty-eight-year-old Isabella Donnelly pulled her car over to the curb as she came to a gated four-way stop and studied the directions Amanda Nelson had given her. She looked for street numbers up and down the beautifully landscaped yards of the condominium buildings on all four corners.

Wow! These are nice! Amanda’s done well for herself! Girls’ night out is looking good so far.

When Isabella heard Amanda call her name, she quickly closed her mouth to hide her astonishment and turned to see Amanda on the second floor of the condo to her right. Amanda waved to her from the front porch.

“Hey, Isabella, park right here in front.” She motioned with her hands to Isabella.

“Okay!” The gates swung open on the right so Isabella could enter and park her car where Amanda was indicating. When she got out of the car, she approached the building and, once again, heard Amanda call her name from the balcony above.

“Isabella! Did you have any trouble finding the address?”

“No, not really. Your directions were very good.”

“Well, that’s great. Come up to the second floor, and I’ll meet you there.”

As soon as Isabella stepped through the foyer of the apartment building, she knew she had stepped into affluence. A uniformed guard was hanging up the phone.

“You must be Isabella. Please, let me get the elevator for you.”

When the elevator door opened on the second floor, an excited Amanda, wearing her usual jeans, t-shirt, and see-through stilettos, raced down the hall to greet her.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Amanda ushered her down the hall and into her apartment. “You can relax, make yourself at home, and I’ll go order the pizza. We’re going to have a wonderful girls’ night. I have everything planned down to the last detail.”

When she entered the condo, the stale smell of cigarette smoke overwhelmed her. Isabella swallowed hard and followed Amanda into the spacious, wide-open apartment with side and front balconies that let in tons of natural sun light. She noticed there were no photos, knickknacks, or floral arrangements—nothing personal to indicate what the person was like who lived there.

“Isabella, could you give me a couple minutes to make a personal call?”

“Sure, go ahead,” she said with some reluctance. “I’d still like to get my daily run in before it gets too late, so I don’t want to stay too long.”

After Amanda disappeared down a short hallway and closed the door behind her, Isabella wandered around the beautifully decorated room, realizing how little she really knew about this woman. She began to have a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She had met Amanda at the gym across the street from the elementary school where she worked as a second-grade teacher. They had joined at about the same time and attended the same sessions. They had become supportive of each other’s efforts and the accountability that came along with working out regularly. They got along great right from the start and had become close friends. They’d gone out for dinner together, went to a movie, but Amanda had never invited Isabella to her home. This was her first visit, although Amanda had been to her tiny apartment many times. Thinking about it now, she thought their relationship was odd.

Although she had to admit that, during the time they had spent together, she had done most of the talking. Amanda simply asked her a question and she blabbed the hours away, confiding in her about her breakup with Michael.

Isabella’s stomach growled. She began fidgeting, folding and unfolding her arms.

Humph!

She turned down the hall toward the room into which Amanda had gone. She paced in front of the door, wondering if she should knock.

“Amanda, wha... what’s taking so long?”

When she didn’t get a response, she pounded on the door and called out, “Amanda!” much louder.

“I’ll be right out, Isabella. Just give me a sec. I’m calling Joe about the pizza,” Amanda said with annoyance in her voice.

Isabella’s fists clenched, and anger and dread filled her chest. What kind of game is she playing with me? Who’s this Joe, and why is she calling him about pizza? This is supposed to be a girls’ night, so where are all the other girls I’m supposed to meet? Why is she acting so secretive and weird now? She had always been so kind and considerate to me.

“So much for being nice,” she muttered. “I’m done playing games.”

She let her animosity get the best of her. Standing firm with her feet apart and her hands on her hips, she bellowed, “Amanda! How long does it take to order a pizza, for heaven’s sake? Did you order the pizza or not?”

Amanda finally opened the door and sauntered into the small living area, with a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary smirk on her face.

“Amanda, I’m outta here. I need to get home and get my run in, so I’ll see yo—”

“No, no, you can’t go yet. You have to stay. The pizza will be here any minute. Please, I insist.”

Isabella wanted to forget the pizza and leave right away. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Amanda wasn’t normal. She could see it, feel it, and she wasn’t comfortable anymore. But she was torn. She wanted to see it through and not hurt Amanda’s feelings by leaving without eating, so she acquiesced. “Well, okay, but just long enough for a slice of pizza. Then, I really need to go.”

“Sure that’s okay, I understand,” Amanda said, her gaze darting around the room.

“Do you want a beer or something else to drink?”

“No, I’m good, but thanks anyway.”

There was a quick knock at the door. The door opened and the smell of pizza filled the room with a mixture of baked cheese, Italian spices, and a man’s cologne. The man who had brought the pizza was tall and rangy, wearing a sports coat over his T-shirt and jeans. His face was attractive yet rugged. In fact, Isabella had never seen anyone look so rough. His nose sat crooked on his face, indicating that he was obviously a scrapper. In general, he gave Isabella the creeps.

“Isabella, this is Joe Sneed, a good friend of mine,” Amanda said as she took the box of pizza from him and put it on the table.

With his dark eyes, he stared blankly at Amanda for a moment. Then, quickly, he nodded in greeting as he tied his thick, black shoulder-length hair back in a ponytail. His reaction to her was as immature as one of her second-grade students.

“Hi, Joe. Nice to meet you.” Isabella nodded at him, ran her fingers through her hair, and looked away as she straightened the wrinkles in the front of her slacks.

“Want a beer, missy? It’s cold.” Joe licked his lips and grinned wide, revealing yellowed, decaying teeth.

His beady eyes traveled lecherously up and down her body. With his yellow fingernails and teeth, he could be a poster child for the effects of long term smoking.

“No thanks. I’ll just have some water.” Her hands were shaking as she turned away from him and grabbed a slice of pizza on her way back to the couch. Amanda handed her a glass of water, and after a few sips and a couple more bites of the pizza, she was finished eating. She sat on the couch waiting for the right opportunity to make her getaway, say her good nights, and get the hell out of there.

Edgy and impatient, getting more eager to leave by the minute, Isabella squinted at her watch. She groaned inwardly. It’s early. I can still get my run in if I leave soon. She yawned. Her face flushed, and her eyelids began to droop. Why am I so tired?

She felt so dizzy.

The room began to spin in front of her.

Drowsy.

Hoping to clear her head, she leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes.

She woke up groggy, her eyelids heavy, hard to keep open. Amanda’s face loomed above her as if from inside a fish bowl. Her words were muffled. Isabella giggled. Something about Amanda’s voice reminded her of how the adults spoke on a ‘Charlie Brown’ show she once saw: “Wah, wah, wah, wah.”

“Isabella, please, let Joe drive you home. It’s gotten late, and you’re too sleepy to drive. I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep or get lost in my neighborhood. In fact, I insist.”

Isabella hesitated, cleared her throat. Thinking about a drive home with creepy Joe made her uneasy, especially since her arms and legs felt like jelly. She struggled to keep her eyes open and was too weak to argue.

Joe half carried her out of the house and placed her in his van.

“What’s your address, missy?” he asked as he backed the van out onto the street.

When she tried to reply, her tongue was tied in knots, swollen in her dry mouth. She licked her rough lips, attempted to swallow, and tried again to form words she didn’t know if he would understand.

“I’ll have you there in no time.” He smiled. “Just sit back and relax.”

His words dripped with reassurance.



* * * *



The van had stopped moving.

Isabella’s heavy eyes fluttered open. She tried to take a deep breath and coughed. Stale cigarette smoke, dust, and old-car smell filled her nostrils. She tried to move her arms and legs, but they were stiff and felt weighted down. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to remember. She had a brief recollection of something about a man helping her into his van to take her home.

She blinked her eyes open, and she squinted, trying to bring her surroundings into focus. She attempted to sit up, swallowing to keep down the rising bile. Turning her head to look out the window, she didn’t recognize the railroad tracks or the blinking red vacancy sign of an old, oddly named motel. Not my neighborhood, that’s for sure.

She sank back into the seat and closed her eyes surrendering to the black clouds swirling behind her eyes. Where the hell am I?

Her head felt enormous and her vision was blurred as Joe half led, half dragged her up the porch steps to a two or three-story house with two dark blue doors, one on each side. Or maybe she was seeing double, she couldn’t be sure.

He guided her through the door on the left and pushed her down onto a small bed. The mattress smelled sour and a spring poked at her hip. She concentrated on lying still, trying to stop the room from spinning. She blinked her eyes and probed at her surroundings, glimpsing the bare outline of three or four single beds in a small room, no night tables or lamps. When her attention settled on Joe sitting in a chair beside the bed, she tried to sit up, but he shoved her back down, his burly, hairy arm stretched across her chest, restraining her.

“What are you doing? Get your filthy hands off me,” she screamed, slurring her words, fighting against him with her arms. “Where am I?”

Joe snarled. “Just shut up an’ don’t give me any trouble. I’ve got a job to do, and I’m gonna make sure it gets done right. You got that? Now drink this.”

He pressed her head back against the pillow, cramming a bottle into her mouth, forcing her to swallow a few sips of foul-tasting soda. She had to swallow or choke. Some ran down her chin dripping onto her clothes. Soon the heaviness signaled the onslaught of black oblivion.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Deadly Deception First Chapter

DEADLY DECEPTION


LORELEI CONFER

Copyright © 2010











Chapter 1



Somewhere outside Suffolk, Virginia



Wyatt Bowman paused in the doorway of the small conference room as he looked around for an empty seat. He spotted his partner, Dave Miller, motioning to him—he had secured two seats on the far side of the room. Wyatt stopped at the refreshment table and poured himself a mug of coffee, then walked toward Harry Edwards, who was wearing sunglasses, a cup of black coffee already in hand.

“Late night, Harry?” he asked his colleague with a smile.

“Don’t ask. Then I won’t have to lie,” Harry responded by raising his cup to Wyatt as if in a toast.

Wyatt slapped Harry on the back and turned away, almost bumping into Olivia Winters, another member of his team.

“Well, fancy meeting you here.” He chuckled.

“Good morning, Wyatt. Ready for another go at it?” Her lips curved into a smile and her blue eyes sparkled with sexual innuendo.

“If you’re talking about the new assignment, yes. Anything else you’ll have to get back to me with more details.” He winked at her, grinned, and patted her arm as he left her side.

As he took his seat, he greeted other colleagues, careful not to spill his coffee on anyone while shaking their hands. He sat in his chair and placed his folder and pen on the table in front of him while Richard Mullins, agent in charge of the two task forces assigned to Human Sex Trafficking, began the morning briefing.

“Good morning, everyone. You have in front of you the pertinent information related to our most recently assigned abduction case, which happened outside the Lakes Shopping Mall in Denver. For those of you who can’t read,” he teased with a smile, “I’ll reiterate. Mall security cameras were able to capture the license plates of both vehicles involved, and from further investigation, we were able to identify the victim as well as the suspect.”

As Richard continued his diatribe about the victim, Wyatt sat listening. His mind was in turmoil. When is this going to be over? When will I walk into a meeting and there won’t be ‘the latest victim?’ There are so many now that we are constantly searching for and more every day. When will it end?

“The victim, Megan Witherite, according to her driver’s license information is twenty-eight years old, about five feet, seven inches, one hundred twenty pounds, blonde hair, and green eyes. In addition, her cell phone left in her car had a GPS in it that we were able to track down to a motel in a seedy part of town known for drug trafficking and prostitution rings.

“Tire tracks left behind on the pavement near where the victim parked her car match those of a newer model van belonging to our suspect, Steve Spikerelli, aka Spike. He’s a wannabe big-time mobster with a long rap sheet. His previous arrests and activities range anywhere from money laundering, car thefts, prostitution rings, drug trafficking, and anything and everything in between. He’s also known for his international activities in human sex trafficking in Bolivia, Guatemala, and most of Central America. He’s apparently decided to add sex trafficking to his infamous list of illegal activities here in the United States, primarily in the Denver area.

“Some of you may be familiar with him since we have been working his case for quite some time. Those of you who aren’t, pay attention to his dossier. Any questions come to me or your team leader.”

Richard reached over to a laptop computer on a nearby desk, clicked a key and a picture of Spike appeared on the large screen on the wall.

“We need to focus on this guy and his organization before there’s another victim like Megan,” he said as Spike’s picture on the screen was replaced with a picture of an attractive young woman.

“Bowman, your team will focus on Spike and his internal operations. We already have an undercover operative, so we should be getting some viable information there. Miller, your team will concentrate on the victim’s family background with jealousy, relationships gone bad, grudges, et cetera. You all know the routine.

“As usual, I’ll need full reports from both your teams within forty- eight hours. Let’s hope you have some good news for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Wyatt said. He gathered his paperwork and stood to leave.

“See you in Denver, Dave.”

He looked back at his partner as he left the meeting room and saw Dave gaping at his quick departure.



* * * *



Denver Airport

Two days later



Wyatt leaned his head back on the headrest of the airplane seat, closed his eyes, and rubbed out the furrows in his forehead with the palms of his hands. The events of the past few weeks swirled in his mind. He was tired. No, he was more than tired—he was fed-up, weary, and worn-down. And he still had an overabundance of paperwork to catch up on.

He sighed deeply, thinking about his career with no typical days in his life anymore—every day was different. His work on the Human Trafficking Task Force made it necessary for him to be available 24/7, responding to crimes. And lately, there were too many crimes and too many responses for his six-member task force. No wonder I feel so overwhelmed.

“Whew!” Wyatt blew out a deep breath as Dave settled in the seat next to him. “I really thought we had the bastard this time.”

“Yeah, I did too,” Dave replied.

“We’ll get him. We know it’s just a matter of time. The way Spike’s organization is expanding, the sooner we get him the better. I’ve been meaning to ask you, Wyatt, what’s eatin’ at you? I’ve known you for a long time, and I know when something’s troubling you. What’s up?”

“I don’t know how much longer I can run Dad’s company, be a part of the task force, and do a good job at both. I’m torn between them, Dave.”

“Well, unfortunately, buddy, you’re the only one who can make that decision. Sorry I can’t help you.”

“Dad worked so hard to build the company, and if I sold it, I’d feel like I was letting him down. He always wanted me to take over some day, but he went along with me when I wanted to become a cop. He never pressured me about it.”

“That’s true, he never did pressure you. Maybe he should have.”

Now that I’m involved with the task force I feel like I can fill a void that’s been left inside me. There are so many kids and women who need me to help them.”

“They don’t need just you. They need all of the task force. You’d be replaced by someone real soon if you choose to back out.”

Wyatt laughed. “Bet they wouldn’t be as good as me, though.”

“Probably not.” Dave nodded in agreement. “But, unfortunately, you are the only one who can make this decision and from the looks of your tired-ass eyes you need to make it soon, my man.”

Wyatt settled back into his seat. He listened halfheartedly to the copilot announce the not-soon-enough-for-him departure. His mind wandered. In a few hours, he would be home, back in Virginia, leaving Denver far behind. He planned to take a day to rest and catch up on the local news.

He also needed to follow up on the client he had visited in Denver and make sure he handed all the information over to his sales manager. Managing his father’s company and staying with the agency were taking its toll on him.

The special arrangement he’d made with the agency when his father died a few years ago allowed him to indirectly manage the company. But he would have to make a decision between the two and soon. He needed to choose whether to stay with the task force or to fully assume the role of CEO in his late father’s company.

The company was continuing to grow and was suffering the pains of progress like any other company, taking up more of his time. He had hired a sales manager, Matthew Miles, who came very highly recommended. He could now turn clients as well as hands-on management over to Matthew and let him take care of them with his trusted expertise. Probably something I should have done years ago.

Too much to do, and so little time to do it in. He needed a nap. Sleep, sure that’s all I need.

As the plane taxied down the runway, he made a mental to-do list, sorted through unfinished business, along with some new endeavors he had on his mind and worried about completing all the necessary paperwork.

When the plane lifted off the ground, he finally relaxed and drifted off to sleep.