EDGE OF SUSPENSE: Thrilling Tales of Mystery & Murder Read online

  But I was less interested in its past than my potential future with Gabriella.

  I found her occupying a bench by the children's play area. What I had in mind was strictly for adults.

  Gabriella was dressed to kill in a low-cut, fuchsia dress.

  I sat next to her. Her flowery fragrance smelled like a slice of heaven.

  "I wasn't sure you'd come," she said.

  "I was too intrigued not to."

  "I'm not that interesting."

  "I beg to differ." We were sitting so close that our legs touched. "What does your husband think you're doing right now?"

  She smiled. "He thinks I'm visiting my sister."

  "And where does your sister think you are?"

  "With a really sexy guy at the park."

  I grinned. "I'm okay with that."

  "I'm just looking to have a good time."

  "Isn't that why we're here?"

  She looked away. "My husband is a very jealous man."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  Our eyes met. "Because I want you to know what you're getting into."

  "Thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself. And you too, if that's what you want."

  "Eric's much older than me and he's been married twice before. I think he sees me as a beautiful woman that he can control and show off at parties."

  "Like a trophy wife?"

  "Yes, something like that."

  "What did you see in him? Is he rich or something?"

  "He's someone who makes my life easier."

  "At what price?" I asked.

  "I can't answer that."

  "Can't or won't?"

  She chewed her lower lip. "He cheats on me. He still sees his last wife and probably other women, too."

  "Why do you stay with him?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you think?"

  "You tell me."

  She swallowed. "Isn't that what all men do? Cheat?"

  I thought of my ex who started fooling around with her boss before the divorce.

  "Some women cheat too," I told her.

  Gabriella put a hand on my knee. "Why shouldn't women get their fair share?"

  I put my hand on hers. "You're right, why shouldn't they?"

  "Eric will be going out of town on business tomorrow."

  I liked where this was headed. "I'm listening."

  "If you come over at around eight tomorrow night, we'll have the whole houseboat all to ourselves."

  "A houseboat, huh?" I'd never been inside one before. "Eight o' clock it is."

  She gave me the address. "I like you."

  "Works both ways."

  She kissed me hard on the mouth. "Till tomorrow..."

  Gabriella got up and sashayed away. I went in the opposite direction.

  Things were beginning to look up again in my life. I had this beautiful lady to thank for that.

  * * *

  The next day I made my way to the Yale Street Landing marina, eager to hook up with Gabriella and see how many ways we could please each other.

  Only a smattering of houseboats were moored there, but enough to tell me that I had stepped up quite a few notches in wealth. I was beginning to understand why Gabriella was in no hurry to pack her bags.

  I'd barely stepped onto the floating walkway leading to the moorages when a dark-haired, well-dressed Latino man bumped into me.

  "Excuse me," I said.

  He gave no response, and hurried past me.

  I continued on my merry way, sure that this would be a night to remember.

  Her houseboat was hard to miss. It had an end moorage and was the biggest and classiest of them all.

  The wraparound deck offered a full view of the city skyline and the surrounding water caught reflections that danced across the lake. I figured this place had to be worth a mint. But the main attraction for me was the lady inside.

  Gabriella opened the door before I could ring the bell. I gave her the once-over and liked what I saw. She was wearing a carnation-colored robe that revealed a lot of cleavage. I wondered if she wore anything underneath it.

  "Right on time," she said.

  "Did you think I wouldn't be?"

  "Not really." Her cheeks flushed. "Come in."

  I walked into a wide, open living and dining area. It had cane furnishings, rich, paneled walls, multiple windows, and more than a touch of class. I could get used this quickly.

  I returned my attention to Gabriella. She was everything I ever dreamt about. With any luck, this could turn into a regular gig.

  "Would you like a drink?" she asked.

  "Sure, why not."

  "I've got wine, whiskey, brandy, beer..."

  "Wine," I said.

  She handed me a long-stemmed glass and filled it with Cabernet Sauvignon.

  "Does your husband go away on business often?"

  "Often enough."

  I grinned. "Works for me."

  "I'm glad it does."

  I put my glass down and pulled her close. I kissed her passionately, tasting the wine on her tongue.

  After a while, she pulled away. "Why don't we go in the bedroom where it's more comfortable?"

  "Lead the way."

  She took my hand and we ended up in a spacious master suite on the main floor. It had a king size four-poster bed and crisp red satin sheets ready to be wrinkled.

  "I'm yours," Gabriella cooed.

  I didn't want to give her a moment to change her mind, so I untied the belt on her robe. Indeed, she wore nothing beneath it. Her voluptuous, naked body begged to be caressed.

  She kissed me, ran her tongue across my lips, then laid down on the bed, her long, shapely legs making me forget any woman trouble I had in the past. She curled a finger and beckoned me to join her.

  I got undressed in a hurry and joined her on the bed.

  Our lovemaking was slow and deliberate. I spent what seemed like forever lost in her touch, her firm breasts, her velvet-soft skin, her legs wrapped around me, hands cupping my buttocks.

  A loud noise in the hallway interrupted our passion.

  "What the hell was that?"

  Gabriella's eyes widened. "I think my husband's back."

  My heart skipped a beat. "You said he was out of town."

  "He must have taken an early flight," she said, jumping out of bed and grabbing her robe. "You have to get out of here!"

  I agreed, but knew I couldn't get dressed and out of there without her husband seeing me.

  I had just put on my pants and loafers when a sixty-something man burst into the room. He was heavyset, paunchy, and wore a designer suit. His eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at Gabriella.

  "You bitch!"

  She cowered behind me as though she expected me to go from lover to protector.

  "Hey, why don't we talk about this?" I told him.

  He sucker-punched me on the chin, stunning me. My legs gave out, but I got up quickly. He was bigger than me, but I was younger and quicker. He swung again. I ducked and hit him twice in the stomach.

  He doubled over, gasping for air.

  I thought it was over, but he suddenly charged at me like a battering ram and got me in a headlock. We both fell to the floor.

  During the struggle, he ended up on top of me. He put his massive hands around my neck and started to choke me.

  Desperate and unable to break free, I balled my hands and slammed them against his temples as hard as I could.

  It worked.

  He groaned and released his grip on my neck. I scrambled out from under him and got to my feet. But so did he...

  I couldn't believe he was ready to go at it again.

  Then a shot rang out.

  The man clutched his chest and fell flat on his face.

  I turned and saw Gabriella holding a gun in her hand.

  "You killed him!" I said.

  "Yeah." She regarded me with eyes that had gone cold.

  I tried to collect my thoughts as I moved toward her. "L
ook, you could say you shot your husband in self-defense."

  "That won't be necessary," a man's voice said from behind me.

  I turned to see the Latino man I had run into on the dock. He joined Gabriella. She handed him the gun and he aimed it at me.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

  The man looked at Gabriella. "Should I tell him or do you want to?"

  As he put his arm around her protectively, she smiled at me. "You followed me home and raped me," she said as if a prepared speech. "When my dear husband came home unexpectedly, the two of you got into a fight. Then you shot him." She glanced at the other man. "That's when Antonio, my husband's lawyer, came over for a meeting with him—and shot you before you could kill me, too."

  I watched as Antonio pulled out another gun, aiming it at me. "After I shoot you as a rapist, murderer, and maybe even a burglar, I'll put the murder weapon in your hands and call the cops. They will take our statements, haul your ass off to jail, and then Gabriella and I will live happily ever after on Eric's money."

  I glared at Gabriella, wondering how I could have fallen into this trap of sex, deception, and murder. More importantly, I wondered how I could avoid the husband's fate as I stared at the wrong end of a gun barrel.

  "Why me?" I asked her.

  Gabriella smiled and turned to her partner in crime. "You do the honors."

  "My pleasure," Antonio said, grinning. "You can thank your ex wife for this..."

  "What—?" My head snapped back as though I'd been punched again.

  "I happen to work at the same law firm as her divorce attorney. Seeing how easy it was for them to screw you over made you a perfect patsy. It was easy to get a handle on your routine. Work, drink, feel sorry for yourself, and hope to get lucky with some hot dame. You get the picture."

  I did and it wasn't pretty. They were holding all the cards and I never even got a chance to shuffle the deck.

  Antonio bared his teeth. "So long, sucker. Hope she was worth it!"

  The way I saw it, my only hope to get out of this alive was to go on the attack. But with two guns pointed at me from a safe distance, the odds were anything but in my favor.

  I had nothing to lose at this point that I hadn't already lost.

  That was when fate stepped in and lent me a helping hand.

  As I prepared to lunge at Antonio, a shot rang out. Only he wasn't the one firing.

  Antonio went down in a heap. Half of his head had been blown away.

  I turned and saw that the husband Gabriella had shot dead had come back to life. He had managed to crawl to a cabinet where a spare gun came in handy. And he knew just what to do with it before collapsing again.

  I wasn't about to let lady luck down. With the two guns Antonio had now up for grabs, I dove and got my hands on one quicker than Gabriella could.

  Recognizing that the tables had turned against her, she fled the houseboat.

  As I got to my feet, I suddenly felt a stinging sensation in my shoulder and saw blood making its way down my arm.

  I had been shot, apparently a parting gift from Antonio as he went down for the count.

  Ignoring the pain, I made my way over to Gabriella's husband and felt for a pulse. He was still alive and so was I.

  Wanting to keep things that way, I dialed 911.

  * * *

  Two days later, Gabriella was arrested and tried to sweet talk her way out of the hole she'd dug for herself.

  Her husband survived his brush with death, while I recovered from my injury with little more than an occasional throbbing to remind me not to play with fire.

  We both testified against Gabriella, helping to send her up the river long enough so that her days of tempting men were over.

  Life for me has since drifted back to normal, whatever that is. Not sure I've ever figured it out.

  Now I think twice whenever a sexy babe comes my way, thanks to one such lady with a killer attitude that I won't forget anytime soon.

  # # #

  DINNER CRASHERS

  In the wee hours of the morning, FBI agents raided the house in the Virginia suburb seeking to arrest the couple suspected of domestic terrorism. Special Agent Alan Sadler headed the charge with his firearm drawn and ready while they went directly to the upstairs master suite. The expectation was that the suspects would be sound asleep or otherwise preoccupied in bed. Instead the room was empty, though the bed had clearly been used recently.

  "Check every room," Sadler ordered, figuring they had to be hiding somewhere. Or so their intelligence would suggest.

  After a thorough search, the place was found to be empty. The suspects, a married American couple named Harold and Elizabeth Lombard, had apparently left in a hurry, somehow managing to give authorities the slip.

  "We have to find them," Sadler said, suspecting that heads would roll if they did not, starting with his. "And quickly. There's no telling what they might be planning while they're on the run."

  An APB was issued on the Lombards who were believed to have several aliases and described as armed, dangerous, and desperate while possibly being in the company of a male associate named Wilson Jaboo.

  * * *

  Harold Lombard drove the stolen car coolly, resisting the urge to go beyond the speed limit and attract potentially unwanted attention. Beside him was his loyal wife, Lizzie. He glanced in the rear view mirror at Wilson Jaboo, his best friend since college and an ardent supporter. Together they had let the world know just what they thought of America and its insistence on sticking its nose into the business and pocketbooks of hard working individuals. They had been tipped off that the FBI planned to arrest them and possibly silence them forever. He wasn't about to let that happen, at least not till they made their ultimate statement. They planned to kill the President of the United States, bringing the utmost attention to their cause. It occurred to Harold that they probably would not make it out of this alive. If that were the case, so be it. Martyrdom was preferable to living with freedoms impaired by a corrupt and greedy government.

  He faced his wife, who was not only still as beautiful as the day they met, but understood what they were all about and actually often took the lead in getting their message out to those who wanted to hear it. "Do you have everything we need?" he asked.

  She smiled. "Right here."

  Harold eyed Wilson. "How about you?"

  "Yeah, I'm set."

  "Then we're going to do this and the world will change forever."

  "I'm with you," Wilson said.

  "Me, too," Lizzie told him sweetly.

  "We're all on the same page." Harold couldn't help but smile as he pulled up outside the hotel. "What could be better?"

  He watched as Wilson got out quickly, gave him an understanding nod, and headed toward the lobby.

  Harold drove off, realizing time was of the essence if they were to pull this off successfully.

  * * *

  Secret Service Agents Genevieve Campbell and Grant McKeen were stationed at the White House for the president's first state dinner. The guest of honor was the president of Cameroon, Peter Matlala. Other guests included a contingent from neighboring Gabon, along with political allies, Cabinet members, and Hollywood and musical celebrities. The event took place under a tent on the White House South Lawn as dignitaries and others with some pull continued to stream in.

  Going undercover as a couple, Genevieve and Grant got to dress the part wearing a gown and tuxedo. It didn't bother Genevieve that her wardrobe, including shoes, were all borrowed by the Secret Service to be returned once the occasion was over. She felt beautiful anyway, just as she found Grant resplendent in his attire and sexy, too. She resisted conveying that last part to him, as if he didn't already know just how sexy he was with or without the black tux.

  They were holding hands and ogling each other appropriately, wanting to give every indication that they were a loving couple and not there to act as the last line of defense in case someone managed to get past the outer barri
ers of security and placed the president or first lady's life in danger.

  "How are you doing?" Grant whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling Genevieve's cheek.

  "Probably about as well as you are," she told him. "Whatever it takes to get the job done, right?"

  "Absolutely." He grinned, squeezing her hand. "By the way, if I didn't tell you before, you look absolutely stunning in that gown."

  Genevieve colored, noting that his eyes had wandered down to a hint of cleavage. In fact, he had complimented her—twice. And she him. "Thank you," she said softly. "I could say the same about you in that tux."

  Grant seemed to take it in stride, flexing his collar. "Comes with the territory."

  "If you say so."

  She wondered if he would actually kiss her, as their mouths were scant inches apart. It certainly wasn't called for in the make-believe couple manual, but they had some latitude in making it seem as real as possible without losing site of their responsibilities at the end of the day.

  Grant stepped back when he received a message through his earpiece. "Oh really?" he said. "All right, we'll be extra diligent."

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "The FBI believes that a credible threat has been made against the president. They're still retrieving information from a computer they confiscated from some terrorist suspects."

  Genevieve's heart skipped a beat. "Who are we looking for?"

  "A couple named Harold and Elizabeth Lombard and a friend of theirs, Wilson Jaboo. The FBI will be sending us their pictures and list of aliases shortly." Grant put his arm around her. "In the meantime, I suggest we mingle and continue to keep our eyes open without alarming the president or his guest of honor. At least not until we have more to go on and reason to believe the Lombards and Jaboo would actually dare try to get in here."

  "Mingle, we shall," she said anxiously. "Wouldn't want to blow our cover, would we? Or take any threat lightly."

  "No, on both counts," he said in earnest while they moved further inside the tent to near where the president was exchanging jokes with President Matlala and his wife.

  * * *

  In the hotel lobby, Wilson Jaboo shook hands with his new buddy from Gabon, Erastus Ona. He had carefully nurtured the relationship with the African over the Internet once he became aware that Erastus would be part of the Gabon party attending the president's first state dinner.