Page 45 of Savage Seduction

“I really have to get these errands done for Nana or she’s going to have my head.” London stands and slings her Louis Vuitton over her shoulder.

“Please give her a hug from me.”

“For sure,” London says. “She always asks about you. Wants to know if you’ve found the perfect guy yet.”

“Oh gosh, and what do you tell her?”

“I told her all about the hot doc, and she says she needs details, or you won’t be getting any of her sweet potato pie at Thanksgiving.”

“Damn,” I say. “Nana doesn’t play around. Okay, you tell her you’ll get the whole scoop with no detail left out.”

“Love you, Max.” London gives me a long hug. “I really will kick whoever’s ass did that to your sweet face.”

“Love you too,” I say. “Thanks for always having my back.”

“We’ve got each other.”

I walk with her to the parking area where we part ways. I look back once to see she made it to her car, but then keep going to my own. I need to stop by the museum and grab some of the textbooks from my locker. They will be worth a lot of money when I sell them back, and it will help me buy this week’s groceries.

The drive to the museum often feels like a chore; congested freeways and never enough time, but today feels different. I'm lost in thought and don’t even remember getting to the parking lot. I pull into my usual space in the designated employee parking and let the car sit, my trance broken when the Prius battery drops too low, and the gas engine kicks on with a rough grumble.

I look at the time on the dash, estimating I’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes. My thoughts are a swirl of questions—namely where was The Butcher hiding, who’s investigating from the FBI, and how was this all going to turn out in the end?

If I'm going to be back at my place by 3:00 to meet London, I’d better pull myself together and get my ass in gear. I exit the car and hurry to the front entrance. The museum is packed with visitors. If the lines of older people all wearing matching-colored stickers to keep them in their tour group is any indication, the local retirement communities are having an outing. When this happens, there’s almost always an incident. Usually a fall, but sometimes a medical emergency. Staff are trained to keep an eye peeled for possible issues. Days like today are often considered chaotic, only usurped by grade-school tours. Busloads of kids, dropped at the museum with an overly taxed teacher, screaming, running, and terrorizing the other unsuspecting visitors. The museum tries to help keep order, but it’s often barely controlled chaos.

“Excuse me,” I say as I push through the line of people blocking the side door leading to the employee locker room.

“Okay, everyone. Can you please move to the side, so we aren’t blocking emergency exits?” Bob says, waving his hands to get their attention. He’s helping the museum tour guides keep a handle on the crowd, but even his loudest bellow is barely heard over the guests.

I sigh when I see how red the man’s neck is as he tries to yell to draw attention to himself. “Bob, you’re going to have a heart attack. Let me help you.”

Not one to normally accept help or even be nice to me, Bob nods and mouths, ‘thank you’.

“I got you,” I say. “May I have everyone’s attention?” I use the stern, authoritative voice I often implemented during crowd control as an officer. The group turns to look in my direction. “Thank you all for coming today. My coworker here, Bob, will help guide you through the museum, but his main job is to keep you and the exhibits safe. So, please… pay attention to him and follow his directions. Okay?”

A chorus of yeses thunders back.

“They’re all yours,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says. “I owe you one.” Bob pushes his way through the group and makes his way to the front where the official tour guide is standing. The two of them begin ushering everyone into the large Hall of Extinction, so I hurry to get to my locker before I get sucked into something else I shouldn’t have to handle on my day off. As I push my way through the crowd, sliding past people without concern for personal space, I feel someone touch my ass. I try to crane my neck enough to look around, but I am surrounded by people.Price to be paid, I suppose, I think. At least whoever did it hadn’t squeezed my cheeks too hard.

I enter the locker room and go straight to my locker. Taped to the front is a folded piece of white paper. I pull it freeand open the handwritten note. It reads:Maximo you have a package that was delivered to the museum. I’ll keep it in my office until you’re able to pick it up. The note is signed– Catherine Nakamura. I hadn’t ordered anything online in weeks and had no idea who would have sent me something. Unless… would my stalker have sent me another package so soon? And at work? Wouldn’t that have increased his chances of getting caught by sending it through the mail?

I turn the combination lock until it opens and pull the locker door wide. The metric ton of college textbooks, or at least it feels like it, are stacked up like kindling at the bottom of the locker. The only one I plan on keeping has full-page colored pictures of some of the greatest artworks from the Byzantine Empire down to modern day.

“Isn’t it your day off?” Bretton says as he walks up behind me.

I turn and smile. Bretton is wearing a black tailored jacket, dark jeans, and a white shirt, no tie, top button undone. “I needed to get some of my old textbooks. They’re gold on the black market.”

“Black market, huh?” he says with a wink. “What’s a goodie-goodie like you know about the black market?”

I close my locker. “Just a figure of speech. Why? What do you know about it?” My tone comes out a bit harsher than I’d meant.

He puts up his hands in surrender. “Jokes, my friend,” he says as he walks over to the sinks and mirror.

“Anyway, what are you doing all dressed up?”

“I’ve got a date,” Bretton says as he musses up his hair. “A friend is setting me up on a blind date. Truth be told, I have no real interest.”

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