Criminal Justice Studies advisor took him under his wing to mentor him. Over time, with the help of the professor, puberty, and pumping iron, Web morphed from a scrawny kid into a lean, mean muscle machine.
From that point onward, women fell over themselves to get him into bed. He’d even been told by the same professor, still his mentor, the local co-eds had a running contest to see who could get arrested by the ‘hunky cop’.
He came back to the present and tried to focus on a new slide, allegedly of Doogan’s Pub, but with the Heade Real Estate sign clearly visible next door. Talk about shameless self promotion. He closed his eyes and wondered if the years had been kind to Lola, or if she’d turned into someone like the overly surgerized Beth.
Web shook his head to clear his mind of the revolting image of Lola with artificial body parts. The only person he was remotely interested in reconnecting with from that era probably didn’t even remember him. Besides, a fter what happened to her, he doubted she’d ever want to see Summerville again.
CHAPTER TWO
~*~
Ravenous, Lola slipped into a plush terrycloth robe and wrapped a towel around her thick hair. She couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into that chicken mole. It had been calling her name for the last thirty minutes. She slid into a pair of flip flops and flapped her way to the kitchen, the tantalizing aromas growing stronger with each step.
“Flora?”
She pushed the swinging door inward and paused to admire the room. Aside from the minor work she’d had done on her studio behind the house, the kitchen had been the last renovation on the old casa before her husband’s death. Outrageously non-Mexican, its white tile floors, black granite counters dotted with opal inclusions and white cabinets with glass fronts gave the room a clean, modern look.
Lola’s marketplace paintings, much sought after in the United States and elsewhere, imbued the space with splashes of color and contrasted past with present. Mexico, with all its turmoil, crime and corruption was still a beautiful country replete with the contradictions of modern day life and a foundation of ancient civilizations that still could be seen in the faces of the common people.
A covered dish sat on the stove; the table was set for one. A glass of red wine awaited her, along with a note. She opened it. Large block letters spelled out “LO SIENTO. FLORA.” How odd. Flora never left notes. Lola had no idea the woman could even read or write.
What the hell was going on?
She looked out the kitchen door, searching for the telltale glow of the night watchman’s cigarette. Nada . She ran to each exit, trying to find signs of the usual cadre of gunslingers assigned to stand at each of her entryways.
Nada, nada and nada .
Panic bubbled through her chest. She ran to her bedroom, locked the door behind her, and picked up the house phone.
It was dead.
Her cell phone wasn’t safe. Izzy had told her that anyone with a Bluetooth headset and a computer could listen in on her conversations, worse yet, they could track her movements using the GPS in her own phone. She grabbed the 'go bag' from the closet shelf, threw in the leopard cover for sleeping, tossed the throw-away phone into her large purse, and opened the hidden wall safe. Stacks of US currency and jewelry went into her bag next, along with passports from two different countries. She hesitated for a moment when she reached for the next item.
She wouldn’t get across the border if she took it with her. On the other hand, there was a good chance she wouldn’t make it out of the compound if she didn’t .
Lola took a deep breath. Enough waffling. Her life was in danger.
She grabbed two boxes of ammo and the Glock. Good thing she’d practiced with it during the last weeks. She might just need to kill a few coyotes.
~*~
After the room emptied, Web collapsed the folding chairs and placed them into stacks
From that point onward, women fell over themselves to get him into bed. He’d even been told by the same professor, still his mentor, the local co-eds had a running contest to see who could get arrested by the ‘hunky cop’.
He came back to the present and tried to focus on a new slide, allegedly of Doogan’s Pub, but with the Heade Real Estate sign clearly visible next door. Talk about shameless self promotion. He closed his eyes and wondered if the years had been kind to Lola, or if she’d turned into someone like the overly surgerized Beth.
Web shook his head to clear his mind of the revolting image of Lola with artificial body parts. The only person he was remotely interested in reconnecting with from that era probably didn’t even remember him. Besides, a fter what happened to her, he doubted she’d ever want to see Summerville again.
CHAPTER TWO
~*~
Ravenous, Lola slipped into a plush terrycloth robe and wrapped a towel around her thick hair. She couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into that chicken mole. It had been calling her name for the last thirty minutes. She slid into a pair of flip flops and flapped her way to the kitchen, the tantalizing aromas growing stronger with each step.
“Flora?”
She pushed the swinging door inward and paused to admire the room. Aside from the minor work she’d had done on her studio behind the house, the kitchen had been the last renovation on the old casa before her husband’s death. Outrageously non-Mexican, its white tile floors, black granite counters dotted with opal inclusions and white cabinets with glass fronts gave the room a clean, modern look.
Lola’s marketplace paintings, much sought after in the United States and elsewhere, imbued the space with splashes of color and contrasted past with present. Mexico, with all its turmoil, crime and corruption was still a beautiful country replete with the contradictions of modern day life and a foundation of ancient civilizations that still could be seen in the faces of the common people.
A covered dish sat on the stove; the table was set for one. A glass of red wine awaited her, along with a note. She opened it. Large block letters spelled out “LO SIENTO. FLORA.” How odd. Flora never left notes. Lola had no idea the woman could even read or write.
What the hell was going on?
She looked out the kitchen door, searching for the telltale glow of the night watchman’s cigarette. Nada . She ran to each exit, trying to find signs of the usual cadre of gunslingers assigned to stand at each of her entryways.
Nada, nada and nada .
Panic bubbled through her chest. She ran to her bedroom, locked the door behind her, and picked up the house phone.
It was dead.
Her cell phone wasn’t safe. Izzy had told her that anyone with a Bluetooth headset and a computer could listen in on her conversations, worse yet, they could track her movements using the GPS in her own phone. She grabbed the 'go bag' from the closet shelf, threw in the leopard cover for sleeping, tossed the throw-away phone into her large purse, and opened the hidden wall safe. Stacks of US currency and jewelry went into her bag next, along with passports from two different countries. She hesitated for a moment when she reached for the next item.
She wouldn’t get across the border if she took it with her. On the other hand, there was a good chance she wouldn’t make it out of the compound if she didn’t .
Lola took a deep breath. Enough waffling. Her life was in danger.
She grabbed two boxes of ammo and the Glock. Good thing she’d practiced with it during the last weeks. She might just need to kill a few coyotes.
~*~
After the room emptied, Web collapsed the folding chairs and placed them into stacks
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