Black Ribbon Affair
Casey Clifford · Ongoing · 31 Chapters
About this book
Caitlin Donnelly's life is exactly how she wants it - except for the threatening notes. Deciphering who's after her, and why, isn't easy when the suspects include all her co-workers, along with a man from her past. Caitlin isn't sure who she can trust and danger escalates at a pace equaling her attraction to Mike. Mike Rafferty's life is in a mess. When his personal life disintegrates, he grasps an opportunity: a challenging new job and relocation to a different state. Finally, he has something to look forward to. He discovers an unexpected benefit in his new co-worker, a woman who turned him down years ago. Mike welcomes this unexpected chance to pick up a relationship worth waiting for. When Caitlin is kidnapped, Mike struggles to save the woman he loves while she learns to trust in his love to keep her alive.
Prologue
Prologue
“I heard ya. Yeah, I can get in there. No problem. I’ll get everythin’ done before Sunday night. You don’t want to know ’cuz you might get your hands dirty. Aww, get off my back...” Jiggling his boot heel against the linoleum, he tuned out the squawking at the other end of the phone.
“Put my pay in the same place. Yeah, dude man, my tastes are costin’ more. Gas, booze, smokes. I want another thou...call it a weekend bonus.” He yanked the phone away from his ear. He was ready to puke at this caller’s gripes and orders.
“No deal? Then do yer own dirty work. You need me.” He flicked cigarette ashes into the sink and flopped on a nearby chair.
“Yeah, yeah, cool it, dude man. I’ll get her done.” His oil-stained hand flipped closed the cell phone.
He yanked his hair out of the worn collar of his flannel work shirt and glared at his scarred, steel-toed work boot. It rested on a pile of girlie magazines, lying on the scratched kitchen table.
He tipped the old chair backward on its rear legs. As a kid, that got him a slap upside his head from his ma. He aimed and spit at the grease-streaked McDonald’s wrappers on the floor. Pa woulda been proud with his bull’s-eye. Slugging down warm beer from the can sitting on the table, he rose, licked the remaining beads of beer from his Fu Manchu moustache, grabbed a dark jacket from the back of the chair and a camouflage cap from the counter.
He pulled two extra-large, heavy-duty trashbags from a box in a near-empty cupboard and stuffed them inside his jacket. “Ribbons, can’t forget them,” he snickered as he reached into a drawer and felt them. Smooth, just like a bitch’s skin.
He remembered the first time he’d used them. ’Cuz they were handy. Kinda classy for the bloody mess he left behind. He liked that look, laughed, and shoved the slinky length into the pocket of his jeans.
Into his other pocket, he jammed a folded piece of white paper. He snatched an open pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it, and blew a smoke ring. He coughed again and spit the hacked-up crap into the rust-stained sink.
