Page 1 of Samson

Chapter 1

A man,six-foot-four, strong and brooding, closed his car door and looked around at the semi-trailers that filled the yard.

He buttoned his suit jacket, which disguised his muscled frame, honed by years of training and experience.

After taking a deep breath, his face puckered in dismay. The warm, dry notes of woods and resins that his cologne had infused into the cabin of his BMW was now overpowered by the scent of steaming manure, unsurprising considering the lowing that could be heard in the distance.

Metal clanged, echoing through the yard as he approached the abattoir at a comfortable gait. The high walls of the building were streaked with rust and grime made all the more dingy by the heavy gray clouds that had hung in the sky for days.

His mind strayed to the chase that was coming. The rush hadn’t hit him yet, but it would. No one who worked for Cramer was weak. These guys were known for their relentless determination. It was a challenge he needed after the sleepless night he’d had.

When he reached the glass door, his confident reflection stared back at him. He smoothed a hand over his hair, smiled at himself, then entered.

The lobby was dreary with patches of threadbare carpet marking the path to the reception desk, and the low hum of machinery vibrated the walls.

The receptionist’s eyes lifted to him and widened as he strolled forward. Her lips parted slightly before she smiled, plumping out her now-red cheeks.

She was in her mid-twenties with a round face, made more prominent by the tight ponytail that hadn’t had much thought put into it. Not until he walked in. Now, she was ruthlessly tucking stray strands behind her ears before pulling them back out again to frame her face.

“Good morning,” she said a little breathlessly.

“Hi there.” He leaned on the desk, tempting her closer. She obliged, although she probably didn’t realize she was doing it. “I was wondering if it would be possible to get a tour.”

“Oh, uh. A tour? They, um.” She swallowed, then cleared her throat, slouching, then straightening. “Yes. I mean, maybe. They do tours on Thursdays.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work for me.”

“You can book in a tour for a different day next week if you’re a journalist or something. Are you?”

“No. I’m afraid not. And I’m not in town long. I’m flying to London on Wednesday, so Thursday is definitely out of the question. My name’s Samson, by the way.”

He held out his hand, and she quickly took it.

“I’m Paula.”

He squeezed her fingers lightly, not letting go.

“Paula…. Is that your grandmother’s ring?” he said, regarding the diamond solitaire on her finger.

“How’d you know?”

“It’s an engagement ring. Old-fashioned.”

“What makes you think I’m not engaged?” She was trying to flirt, but her tone was all wrong.

“You’re wearing it on your right hand, middle finger.”

“Oh…yeah.”

He twisted her hand, admiring. “Your hands are more petite than hers.” He rubbed his thumb across her fingers before dropping them.

She slowly retracted her arm and laid her hand carefully in her lap as though to preserve his touch.

It was almost too easy sometimes. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having power over people was intoxicating. But while he’d learned a long time ago how to shut out his conscience, leading on a young woman he had no interest in had its disadvantages. He preferred not to leave a trail of destruction in his wake besides those who deserved it, so he did his best to leave her with something to dream about instead of causing her to wallow in disappointment.

“I don’t supposeyoucould show me around?” His inflection suggested the promise of more, but he was sure she wouldn’t be able to leave her post.

“Me? I’d love to, but…I’m not allowed. I have to answer the phones and be here if anyone comes in.”

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