I looked like a rail—still do, relatively speaking, for that matter, and to this day I’ve still not had a period, but I digress—and, thank god, the pervert paid me no mind. Margo wasn’t so lucky. She started getting her curves, and the freak wasted no time. She begged me to keep quiet so I took to writing letters to whoever might listen. I lost track of the number I wrote before a bishop at the diocese finally came.
I seethe as the memory replays.
Mr. Foutsey got a slap on the wrist. I lost my best friend; she refused to ever talk to me again.
The video starts, returning my focus to the scandal, and I take a deep breath.
Scandals show how unfairly those in authority, rich politicians case in point, are treated. They seemingly live above the law while we mere mortals are subject to every nuance of it.
The video freezes, and I roll my eyes. Damn motel internet can’t stream videos to save its life. Why do I bother?
“Forget it.” I kill the thing and continue scanning.
It’s the continuing saga of a big wig politician accused of using top secret information to bribe a big tech company and lying to the FBI. From everything I’ve learned, the guy is guilty as sin and I want to see him punished. Severely. If it was me or any other US citizen who had done what this guy has, they’d be locking all of us up for the rest of our lives and throwing away the key.
I hungrily scan the article. “Evidence of consequential errors in judgment, failure to advise, inconsistent information, yeah, yeah, yeah, probable cause. They sure paint his crimes PC, don’t they?” I maintain my ongoing commentary as I read, but frustration has me scrolling to the end in short order. I need to read the conclusions.
“That’s it?” I let go of a guttural growl and bring a fist down on the desktop making my computer and soup jump as I finish the article.
“But it’s not fair.” I’ve waited months to hear the result of this investigation, and this is all it concludes?
“How many people did you pay off to keep your dirty little secrets, ya weasel?” I shake my head, thoroughly disgusted.
The guy’s above the law. He’ll walk away with only a slap on the wrist… one more time. The country’s run by a bunch of corrupt bureaucrats. Where’s the justice?
The utter unfairness settles over me, and I know there’s only one thing to do. I rummage in the paper bag and pull out six honey baklava. I’ll drown my frustration in the heavenly treat.
Nibbling on a sticky piece of heaven, I turn my attention back to the news site to find a breaking news banner flashing along the bottom. It reads, “Chaos Erupts at the Louvre.”
I draw in a quick breath and click.
Chapter Seven
Footage of what looks like a war zone starts playing. Chunks of concrete lay strewn among a host of dust and debris.
My breathing speeds.
A museum employee, who they stop to get a word, is covered in dust that cakes around his nose and mouth and makes his hair look gray. “It’s chaos, it’s just chaos.” He starts hacking and moves on.
I barely catch the Styrofoam soup container my elbow knocks as I straighten my computer screen to see better.
Gray colors the museum’s security guards’ navy uniforms, too. One woman sputters as she sips a bottle of water.
I draw my hands over my mouth. This can’t be happening.
The reporter stops another person, a Louvre official from the uniform, and shoves a mic in his face. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, but it appears a bomb detonated in the Egyptian exhibit. We’ll hold a press conference once we know more.” The man scurries away.
“Shit!”
The camera pans across what’s left of the arched chamber the sphinx sat in, partly occluded in a haze of dust. The statue of the sphinx used to sit atop a raised platform in the middle of it, but despite poor visibility, there’s no sign of the pink granite lion-person.
I bite the side of my fist and let out a whimper the instant I spot a gaping hole in the wall behind where the statue had rested. Daylight streams in, illuminating the haze.
“Damn!”
“Now do you believe me?” The familiar baritone voice comes from behind me, and I shriek.
My arm swipes the soup over as I scramble to turn, spewing rice, chicken, and veggies all over my sweats as I bolt up.
“Damn!” I flail my soupy hands, glancing quickly at the mess, before turning my attention to the intruder.
I gasp when I find Crazy Guy reclining on the far side of the extra bed in his leather duster with his back against the headboard, arms and ankles crossed with a grin firmly planted on his pretty face. His gold and silver eyes dance.
“No, no, no, no.” My feet shift back and forth as I raise my hands until my forearms cradle my turban. I thought he was dangerous before, I’m sure of it now. There’s something wild and untamed about him.
“That’s very cute. What do you call that dance? The drunk penguin?”
I stop dancing and start shaking my head. “I’m hallucinating again.”
Crazy Guy leans forward, concern lacing his features. “Hallucinating? Maybe you should sit down.”
I lower my hands, then turn palms out and start waving them. “This can’t be happening. How am I imagining you again?”
Crazy Guy stands, then extends his hands as if cajoling a skittish kitten, and slowly rounds the end of the bed. Step after careful, sexy, step he approaches, his eyes locked with mine.
I freeze, like a deer in headlights.
His short but wavy, onyx locks are perfectly ordered
