A Taste of Sin

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  A Taste of Sin

  Sarah Woods Mystery Book 4

  by

  Jennifer L. Jennings

  Copyright© 2013

  All rights reserved.

  If you haven’t read the first three books in the Sarah Woods Mystery Series, you can get it here for free with Kindle Unlimited…

  Sarah Woods Mystery Series ( Books 1-3)

  Chapter 1

  Thursday, October 3

  6:45 pm

  Breaking and entering is illegal. However, if you’re going to pull off such a stunt, preparation is crucial, back up highly recommended, and proper tools a must. For instance a sturdy set of bump keys is invaluable if you haven’t yet mastered the art of lock picking.

  Even if you’ve taken all eventualities into consideration and there is a plan in place—well, you get the point.

  The house belonged to Gavin Cole, a thirty-six year old sex offender recently arrested for raping a fifteen-year-old girl. I’d only seen his face once via a mug shot taken weeks prior. His lawyer ended up getting him a plea deal---Gavin never spent a day in jail---but that didn’t mean he’d learned his lesson.

  His latest victim was one Danielle Washburn, a twenty-six year old bartender. She’d hired us to recover some sex tapes Gavin likely intended to sell to the highest bidder.

  The first thing I noticed when I entered the house was the smell of pot and stale alcohol. The place was pitch black. I carried a small flashlight---it provided just enough light to guide me.

  The place was obviously a party house. I imagined Gavin hosting porn nights and playing raunchy home movies—maybe his own—on the huge flat-screen. As I passed through the living room en route to the kitchen I made a mental note of pot paraphernalia and empty bottles of liquor scattered about the place. Gavin was a slob with expensive taste in alcohol.

  I continued down a hallway, noting a bathroom to my left, then turned and looked through the doorway to my right. A queen-sized mattress was pushed up against the far wall. A desk with a laptop and printer sat on the opposite side.

  File boxes, CDs, notebooks, and writing utensils were strewn about the makeshift office. I got on my hands and knees, placed the butt of the flashlight between my teeth, and searched through the debris. After checking each file folder and several cardboard boxes I found the tapes in a large bubble-pack envelope. There were names written in red ink on each one: Danielle, Karen and Jennifer. All three went in my bag. My next order of business was the laptop computer. It was nothing special, a no-name brand likely purchased at Wal-Mart. I unplugged the unit and stuffed it in my bag.

  I slung the backpack over my shoulder, prepared to make a quick exit when my cell phone vibrated in my back pocket. My stomach muscles contracted as I read the text.

  Exit the house right now. He’s about to walk in the front door.

  I saw headlights pull into the driveway. I headed toward the window to get a better look. A silhouette emerged from the car and ran up to the front door. The faint sound of keys jingling in the lock made my stomach queasy.

  This individual would be in the house within a few seconds.

  With little time to think, I ducked behind the bedroom door flattening myself against the wall just as the front door opened. I felt the vibration of heavy footsteps inside the house. Clanging sounds preceded the distinct whir of an electric can opener and a microwave oven. The smell of baked beans filled the air. I heard the evening news on the television.

  My hands were sweating inside latex gloves as I formulated an exit strategy. Maybe Gavin had taken his meal to the living room. If so, I could slip past him and escape through the back door.

  I took a deep breath, reached into my bag and clasped my fingers around the pepper spray canister. When I peeked around the doorframe to the living room, he was on the couch, facing the opposite direction and laughing at something the news anchor had said. I could only see the back of his balding head as I stepped cautiously toward the back door.

  The volume was turned up so loudly I figured he wouldn’t hear the sound of the door as it opened.

  It was risky, but I pulled it off.

  Once outside, I closed the door behind me and let my eyes adjust to the dark when the sound of a growling dog got my undivided attention.

  I had completely forgotten about his dog.

  I scanned the backyard. My heart sank as the reality of my situation set in---I was trapped by a seven-foot high chain-link fence.

  I searched the ground around my feet for a bone, a stick, anything to divert his attention. I spied an empty beer bottle inches away and threw it across the lawn. “Here boy, go fetch.”

  The dog went after it.

  I went for the fence. I jumped up and grabbed the links, struggling to find footing. My shoes kept sliding down until I was left dangling like a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse.

  I heard the jangling of the dog’s collar. He was coming after me.

  Despite my lack of upper body strength, I somehow managed to hoist myself up, but my feet were still too close to the ground.

  Gritting my teeth to prevent a scream, I felt the sharp teeth penetrate my ankle as my arms strained against the weight of my body. I kicked my legs, trying to find footing. I felt a rush of adrenaline and pulled myself up and over the fence.

  I looked around at the neighboring properties. It didn’t appear as though anyone had witnessed my great escape. I hobbled back to Carter’s vehicle, parked just a few blocks away.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Carter eyed me with trepidation.

  “I should probably get a tetanus shot as soon as possible. Hopefully Gavin takes better care of his dog than his employees and his shots are up to date.”

  “Shit, you met Cujo.”

  “Appropriate name for that monster.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  Carter ran a hand through his thick, grey hair. “This was supposed to be an easy job. Gavin was scheduled to work all night.”

  “Must have been slow at the bar.”

  Carter glanced into the rear-view mirror. “Do you think he saw you?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure he didn’t hear his dog either. The television was cranked up.”

  “So, you got the stuff?”

  “Told you I could do it.”

  Carter gave me one of his lopsided grins, unzipped my backpack and peered inside. “Nice job. Where’d you find them?”

  “They were in his bedroom, inside a bubble mailer. Apparently, he was getting ready to send them to someone.”

  “So, I guess we should get you to a hospital.”

  I pulled my pant leg up to assess the injury. Three puncture wounds were oozing blood. “No big deal.”

  “Max will kill me when he sees your ankle.”

  “Well, you certainly couldn’t have pulled this off yourself right after your knee surgery.”

  “Still, you got hurt and I’m responsible for you.”

  “Nothing a few Band-Aids won’t cure.”

  Carter started the engine and gave me another apologetic look. “So, off to the emergency room?”

  “I guess so.”

  Chapter 2

  We arrived at the ER less than ten minutes later.

  “Okay if I come back in a while?” Carter asked. “I’m going to deliver the goods to Danielle.”

  “That’s fine. I could be here for several hours. I’ll just call you when they’re done with me.”

  I exited the car and made my way into the lobby.

  The receptionist gave me a clipboard with a stack of papers to sign, and told me to take a seat in the waiting area.

  I filled out the forms and returned them to the receptionist.
Going back to my seat, I noticed a handsome man walking in. He was about six feet tall, with a great physique and short hair. He had a white towel wrapped around his finger. I made eye contact and smiled.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Do you have any idea how long the wait might be?”

  “Not long. The receptionist told me about twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the empty seat next to mine. “I should be able to hold out till then.”

  “What happened to your finger?” I asked.

  “Just a small accident with a paring knife. Go figure. Just got back from a tour in Afghanistan without a single wound, only to return home and injure myself peeling a mango.”

  “Sure, blame it on the fruit.”

  He laughed.

  “On a serious note, thank you for your service to our country and welcome home. What branch of the armed forces do you serve in?”

  “Air Force,” he said. “I retired last month.”

  “Are you a pilot?”

  He paused. “Yeah. Only problem is, now that I’m home I can’t find a decent job to save my life. You know anyone looking to hire a pilot with mad fruit cutting skills?”

  I smiled and looked away, wondering if this guy was flirting with me.

  “So,” he said, looking down at my ankle. “What happened to you?”

  “Dog bite,” I replied.

  “Really? You got attacked?”

  “I was playing around with a friend’s dog. He got excited.”

  “What breed?”

  “Just a mutt.”

  He gave me a quizzical smile that made me uncomfortable. I was thankful when the nurse called out my name. I stood up. “Well, looks like it’s my turn. I’ll put in a good word for you. Maybe they’ll bump you to the top of the waiting list.”

  He smiled. “Thanks for looking out for me, Sarah Woods.”

  I paused, wondering how he knew my name, then remembered the nurse had just called it out. He didn’t offer his name, so I simply waved goodbye.

  * * *

  An hour later, I returned to find Carter waiting. He looked up from his magazine. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Fine. How long have you been here?”

  “Few minutes.”

  “Let’s go. I hate hospitals.”

  I glanced around the lobby one last time as I followed Carter out the sliding glass doors. The ex-pilot was no longer there.

  “Danielle seemed impressed when I spoke of your harrowing mission. She wanted me to thank you.”

  “It still irks me that Gavin is free to abuse more women. Someone like him should be in jail, not throwing parties for his perverted friends.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Carter drove me back to my apartment, a Victorian style duplex just minutes from historic downtown Bridgeport, New Hampshire. I’d been renting the place since my divorce had been finalized a year prior. After being married for over twenty years, I was living alone again. My son Brian was away at college, living in Boston.

  Carter stopped the car in front of my place and handed me an envelope. “Payment for another job well done.”

  “Thanks,” I said, noticing that the envelope was thicker than usual. “Did I get a raise or something?”

  “I included a little extra in there for hospital bills.”

  I slipped the envelope into my purse. “You didn’t need to do that. I have excellent insurance.”

  “Then take Max out for a nice dinner, on me.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I knew from experience that Carter would get in touch as soon as another job presented itself. We’d been averaging one to two jobs per week. “Till next time?”

  “Yep,” he said. “Till next time.”

  Chapter 3

  Having a boyfriend who likes to cook is a mixed blessing, especially when said boyfriend is seven years younger, in great shape and makes a killer Tiramisu. Max could eat four servings without gaining an ounce.

  I, on the other hand, would have to starve myself for days.

  “Thanks for making dinner tonight,” I said, while lying on the couch, my injured foot in Max’s lap. “The lasagna was delicious.”

  “No problem. You’re going to take some time off, right? No more jumping fences and dodging bullets for a while, I hope.”

  Max liked to poke fun at my budding career, so I wasn’t surprised at the remark. He meant well, so I let it go this time.

  “Yes. Now that Carter and I are both laid up, things are on hold.”

  “Carter needs to understand you’re not his personal undercover agent. Private investigators don’t have the authority to break into people’s homes and steal things. I’m surprised you agreed to it.”

  “Gavin is a slime-ball and needs to be stopped.” I always shared information about my assignments with Max, despite Carter having warned against it and, as a surveillance expert, Max understood the rules of conduct a little too well.

  “You could have been arrested. Did you ever meet the client?”

  “Danielle? No, apparently she’s the niece of one of Carter’s friends.”

  “And she works with Gavin?”

  “I guess so. She’s a cocktail waitress or something at the bar he owns.”

  “Why does she still work for him?”

  “Beats me. Maybe she can’t find another job. Speaking of work, what time is your flight tomorrow?”

  “Early. I wish I could blow this seminar off, but I need to network. Will you still be able to drive me to the airport with your screwed-up ankle?”

  “Please. It’s not like my foot’s been amputated.”

  Max laughed. “Hey, let’s take a drive up to Concord when I get back and stay at one of those bed and breakfast joints. We could both use a little vacation.”

  “That would be awesome. Something to look forward to.”

  “What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

  “Probably spend time with my other boyfriend,” I teased. “He’s even younger than you are.”

  We often joked about our age difference. It didn’t bother me a bit when younger women flirted with him—which happened quite often. I took it as a compliment. I’d never been one of those high-maintenance, insecure women who needed a lot of extra attention. Max knew it, too, but still made a point of reassuring me every once in a while that I was a very sexy forty-four.

  “I’ll miss you next week,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.

  I poked his dimpled cheek. “I’ll miss you more.”

  * * *

  I was too restless to sleep after Max went to bed.

  My ankle was throbbing so I took some pain meds, then sat on the couch to check my e-mail. There was a message from Linda Barrett, a high school friend I’d become reacquainted with after attending my twenty-fifth high school reunion.

  She was a psychologist; and I wouldn’t be surprised if most of her male patients were in love with her. She had the kind of face sculptors drooled over: high cheekbones, a straight nose and large almond shaped eyes. Thick auburn hair only added to her striking features.

  Like clockwork, I’d received weekly e-mail reminders that we needed to get together. I was out of excuses, so I decided to respond and make myself available over the coming weekend.

  A reply e-mail came a few minutes later. She suggested O’Donnell’s Pub, Saturday night at seven.

  Linda was the popular girl back in high school. She’d always had a boyfriend, and ended up marrying the star football player---who turned out to be an abusive alcoholic. Their marriage ended after three years.

  Linda was still a catch at forty-four but, according to our brief conversation at the reunion, she’d sworn off men.

  Once I had committed to seeing her, I looked forward to hearing more about her life.

  Chapter 4

  O’Donnell’s was a cozy, high-end Irish pub located in Bridgeport’s historic district. I managed to arrive on time wearing brand new jeans, a silk blouse and a pair of tall leather bo
ots.

  Linda and I had been friendly competitors in everything back in high school, but she’d always won the boy’s affections. I ended up being her awkward sidekick, with frizzy hair and clothing from K-Mart. Not that it had ever really bothered me. I knew my place in the world, and it didn’t involve dating the popular boys. Linda never rubbed it in my face. Instead, she’d tried to help by introducing me to the padded bra. That was like discovering a pot of gold.

  I walked into the dimly lit bar and saw her sitting there. The male bartender was chatting her up, no doubt captured by her charms. The ambient lighting reflected off her auburn hair, giving it a golden glow. The smooth curls spiraled down her back, the sides pulled up into a crystal barrette. Her stylish suit looked like it was straight out of Vogue Magazine.

  I leaned over the empty stool beside her and nudged her arm. “Hey baby, is this seat taken?”

  She spun around in surprise and laughed with that familiar husky tone. She leaned in and air-kissed my cheek then turned to the bartender. “Dennis, let me introduce you to my dearest friend, Sarah Woods.”

  We shook hands and I ordered a glass of wine. When he disappeared to fetch a bottle of red, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look at you,” I said, climbing on to the stool, being careful not to bump my foot. “Still breaking hearts wherever you go.”

  She waved the comment away. “Must be my friendly face.”

  “I’m sure your gigantic boobs have nothing to do with it.”

  Linda laughed again, but didn’t disagree. “So, are you in pain or something? I saw that frown on your face as you sat down.”

  “My foot. It’s just a flesh wound,” I uttered with my best Monty Python impression, our favorite flick back in the day.

  Linda chortled. “Oh my goodness, we only watched that movie a hundred times. My mom wanted to burn that VCR tape.”

  “I’m sure she wanted to burn all of our movies. Remember Crocodile Dundee? I thought I was going to grow up and marry Mike Hogan.”