Chapter1
Samantha AKA Sam
“Bye everyone.” My stomach growls, I wave to the ladies, and slide into my husband’s Patten Securities jacket.
When I open the door, the wind catches my hair and I pull it back with an elastic tie. Then, I stroll past the neighborhood shops and stop to grin at the hardware store.
For years, old Mr. McCreary has encouraged grade school artists to paint his windows. This October, a toothy jack-o’-lantern grins between two black cats and the silhouette of a witch rides in front of an enormous, yellow moon.
This street used to my favorite trick-or-treating spot because the local businesses gave away the best candy. Suddenly, thunder grumbles, the sky darkens, and trash rolls along the gutters. I can either stop reminiscing or get wet.
At the next busy intersection, I press the ‘walk’ button and glance up at the clouds. A black sedan with shaded windows pulls to the curb, the door opens, and I step back.
“Special Agent Kessler?” I haven’t seen him since the day I got fired; the day I met my partner; both the best and the worst day of my life.
My old boss steps out and extends his arms toward the backseat. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he was pulling a chair out in a five star restaurant.
“Ah… No thank you.” I do not want a tête-à-tête with this man. That train has come and gone. Leave the past in the past, etcetera, etcetera.
“I must insist.” Smirking, he hands me an envelope and crosses his arms.
My fingers slide across the notarized seal and as I read the fine print in the enclosed letter, a chill runs down my spine. “I need to vet this with my lawyer.”
“Sure. Later. Right now, get in the car.” He grips my upper arm, sure to leave a bruise.
Holy crap. I hear Suds’ voice in my head. “Sugar, you’re a walkin’, talkin’ danger magnet.”
But again, this is not my fault. Bad shit keeps happening to me. “Do you really intend to kidnap me?”
The Feds have chosen their pick up place carefully. The closest security camera is behind me, over the doorway to my aunt’s hair salon.
Leaning over, I glance in the back seat where a former co-worker, whose name I can’t remember, lowers his sunglasses. “It’s by presidential order, Ms. Russo. Get in.”
“Sutcliff. My last name is Sutcliff and my husband is going to be furi-”
“He already knows.” Not-So-Special Agent Kessler pushes me toward the car while I consider kneeing his balls, screaming fire, and running.
Instead, I try to reason with them. “My cat? I need to feed her.”
“We’ll see to it someone-” He strong arms me to the door and I pull mace from my holster and point it at his face.
“No pet, no cooperation.” A woman has to draw the line somewhere.
“Fine. Get in and we’ll stop on the way.” I do what he says, yet keep my weapon pointed as the town car inches forward in heavy Brooklyn traffic. Multitasking, I read the document signed by the president. He wants non-partisan contractors to research a possible Halloween terrorist event.
“Is this for real?” I picture little kids getting hurt and shudder.
“Someone thinks so.” The agent to my left shrugs and grins.
Well, this is just weird.The driver pulls in front of my loft-slash-office where the second floor window declaresSuds and Sam’s Private Investigatorsin bold black lettering.
“I’ll be right back.” I figure I’ll call my dad, my Uncle Vinny, and if needed, my hitman friend, Frankie. I don’t trust these guys, even if they are FBI.
They fired me, for God’s sake. There is no way they would want me working for them. Not only that, I worked in the DC office. The terrorist threat is here, in New York City. Nothing makes sense.
If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck… it’s probably trouble.
“Your phone?” Wearing a smug smile, Agent What’s-His-Name follows me out of the vehicle and holds out his hand.
