To Die For

To Die For

By Dawn Ramble

A pick-up or a pick-me-up? A dark tale of sex and seduction.

"Going to Barcelona?" asks the voice beside me as I sense him slide into the aisle seat. I open my eyes and see a gentle smile which stretches from the corners of his mouth to his deep green-brown eyes, eyes you could drown in. Despite this I'm tempted to give a facetious answer, such as a panicked, "Isn't this plane going to Paris?" but instead I just nod and close my eyes again. I'm sitting in premium economy on an overnight flight to Barcelona and was hoping to grab some 'zzz's on the way.

"Just my luck that this charmer with the beguiling smile should drop into the seat next to me, really an amazing coincidence," I think.

I'm Maxine Power. Don't say it, I've heard them all. My friends know to call me Maxie, not Max. I'm thirty-four, attractive and fit, and this dude is maybe three or four years older. I try to relax and to my surprise he says no more. When I wake up, he's actually asleep beside me and the cabin lights are dimmed. I'm bursting to pee and loosen my seat belt. I manage to stand and step across his legs without waking him. As I move to the loo, I see many are asleep while others watch movies or play games on the screen in front of them. Returning to my seat I bump his left leg slightly as I regain my seat. He gives a soft grunt but doesn't wake. I lie back with thoughts rushing though my head before falling back to sleep.

When I wake again and raise my mask; it's almost eight and many passengers have their blinds open filling the plane with a suffused light. My travelling companion is awake and reading.

"Good Morning!" I say, thinking I must have got about six and a half hours of actual sleep, amazing.

"Good Morning! You slept well. I think getting sleep on these flights is so important." His accent is a mix of what I think of as posh English with undertones of Spanish, very sexy.

"Do you travel often?" I ask.

"All the time... you?"

"First time to Barcelona," I say.

"Are you meeting friends? Where are you staying?"

"A boutique hotel in an area called... I think it's Example, funny name. I don't know how to say it in Spanish, and no I'm traveling alone."

"It's Eixample and remember Barcelona is the heart of Catalonia, so signs are in Catalan not Spanish. However, if people don't understand English, they will understand is you have a little Spanish. Just remember some people are touchy about being called Spanish."

"Thank You. I hope I didn't offend you."

"No, I'm actually mostly Spanish and a little bit British; I just love living in and near Barcelona."

"In and near?"

"Yes, I have a small apartment in town, actually not far from where you're staying, I think, and then I have a small villa on the coast a little under an hour away."

"Lucky you. Are you married? Have you children?

"Sadly, no and no."

"I see you are married," he says looking at my ring.

"Yes, almost ten years."

"But travelling alone. No troubles in the marital bed?"

"That's a bit of a cheek! No, no problems. It's just each year he takes off these two weeks to go golfing with his buddies and this year I thought I'd do something for me."

"I see. Good for you!"

We continue to talk while we eat breakfast. When they announce we will soon be landing he says,

"I'd be happy to drive you to your hotel."

"That's very kind. Are you sure it's not out of you way?"

"Not at all, and it would be my pleasure. By the way what do I call you?"

"I'm Maxine, you can call me Maxie, and you?"

"I'm Luiz, and you can call me Luiz," he answers with his engaging smile.

Good to his word Luiz takes me straight to my hotel and we share a drink on the terrace after I checked in. As we finish, he says, "I've nothing on for the next two days. I would be so happy if you would allow me the pleasure to show you my city."

I hesitate while I consider his offer, but he is acting like the perfect gentleman.

"I would love that. Thank you!"

The next day he shows me many examples of Gaudi's architecture from Park Guell to the amazing Sagrada Familia cathedral before a late lunch at a restaurant on the Ramblas. We finish the day with a visit to the Fundació Joan Miró, a great museum and art gallery. Before he drops me off, he suggests we visit the Mercat de la Boqueria in the morning and then we might have lunch at the beach and stay for the afternoon. I eat a lonely dinner at a tapas restaurant close to the hotel. Honestly, I'm looking forward to what is planned for the morrow.

As promised, he picks me up at 9:30; I'm wearing my daypack with my swim things and towel as well as sunscreen, a book and my water bottle. First stop the Mercat halfway down the Ramblas. To my eyes this market is amazing. Just looking at the array of seafood, vegetables and meat you can tell we are on the Mediterranean and I'm salivating although I just had breakfast. We stop for a macchiato or 'café manxat' in Catalan, an expresso with a dash of milk. The coffee is so good. Then we continue to wander through the market perusing the extraordinary variety of goods, raw or prepared, until Luiz say we should be going.

Parking his car, we enter a restaurant and looking though it, I can see the sand and the sea. There is only one other couple but it's early for Spaniards to eat. It appears he has called ahead not only for a reservation but for a seafood paella that is quickly produced on a wide flat dish. There is more than I can ever imagine eating; mussels and langoustine and some white fish, tomatoes and peas and rice, lots of delicious rice. I don't remember him asking if I had a seafood allergy, but I don't. We eat and then help ourselves to more, all the time enjoying chilled dry cava.

"You like it?"

"Like it? It's to die for!" I reply and he laughs good-naturedly.

A desert is offered but we pass. Luiz declines my offer to pay, and I pick up my daypack as we walk from the back of the restaurant over to the beach. I realize at once this section is clothing optional with most of the men and women nude.

Seeing my look Luiz is quick to say, "If we walk another hundred yards or so we'll be out of the mainly nude area."

"No problem," I find myself saying, "I've been to nude beaches in the Caribbean."

"Good," he says, "We'll just stop here," and he lays down his bag and strips off his shirt.

Man, he is ripped! He must really work out, not body-builder style but true athlete, lean and sinewy with a visible six-pack. I let my pack fall and look away before I'm caught gawking. Looking over my shoulder I see he has turned away and dropped his pants. He is neatly folding them, only his boxers to go. Why did I say I was OK with nude beaches? Yes, I have been to them before with friends, but here I am with someone who is almost a stranger.

Of course, nudity is much more accepted in Europe; it doesn't have to have a sexual connotation but try telling that to my body right now. Every inch of my body is in a state of arousal. I mean Luiz is really hot. I find I am removing my blouse and dropping my jeans. I'm in my lingerie and that is as much as I'm wearing. When I turn Luiz has spread a wide beach sheet and is lying back on his elbows looking at the sea. He's completely nude, of course, and my eyes automatically go there. He is certainly hung. It's lying quite passive down his thigh but it's longer and thicker than any I have seen before. My body's physical response is frightening, but I quickly sit down on my side of the sheet.

He looks over, "Are you sure you are comfortable? We could move if you prefer."

"No, I'm fine," I say and find I am taking off my bra to back up my words.

Let me be clear I am not in any way ashamed of my nude body, I run, I exercise, I eat right and am blessed with a great metabolism. Plenty of people think I'm hot, at least those at the gym who have seen enough of me.

"Oh, get over yourself," I silently reprimand, as I raise my butt and slide off my thong. I lean forward and pick up my underwear and put it in my bag. Then I lean back on my elbows and let my eyes wander down my body. Luiz hasn't even indicated he's noticed. His eyes seem to be closed beneath his sunglasses. I let my eyes drift over to his body with its all-over Spanish tan, faintly paler round his groin, and compare my lightly tanned torso with its obvious whiter area around my breasts and down there where the sun had not shone for at least a couple of years. I was instantly glad I was naked when I realized I had not groomed as I should, and I might have been embarrassed by hair peeking from my high-cut French bikini thong. With that I settle on my back and close my eyes making a mental note to take care of things back at the hotel.

I am awakened by his hand on my thigh, the outside, nowhere inappropriate, as he whispers, "You need to turn over and put on some lotion before you burn."

I sit up and pull my pack closer to extract my Banana Boat Sport.

"If you want to lie on your stomach, I'll do your back," he says in low caressing tones as I hand it to him.

I move the pack away to face the sea before lying down and resting my head on my hands.

The first touch of the liquid feels icy cold on the heated skin of my shoulders as his hands begin to massage it in. He goes under my armpits, and I feel his touch on the side of my breasts. My breasts aren't large, but they are firm, and I feel my nipples flare against the fabric of the sheet.

"It's just sunscreen," I tell myself, but my body knows these are the hands of a man that I barely know.

He works down my back diligently covering my sides as well. He reaches my hips, and I feel him squirt some lotion onto my butt. I release a sigh as he massages it into my glutes. He pauses and shuffles backwards on his knees. Now he is massaging it into my feet. I say massage because he clearly knows how to massage, he's kneading the ball of each foot and pulling on each toe. Then he is touching that spot on the back of my ankle just above the heel that is one of my most sensitive erogenous zones apart from you know where.

As he continues over my calves and up my legs he lifts his inner leg across mine. He is straddling me as he works up to my thighs. I keep my eyes firmly closed as I imagine that long cock hanging almost touching me. He moves from the outside of my thigh to the inside and my legs move further apart with a will of their own. He must sense my wetness as he shuffles forward. To anyone watching we must look like lovers in this intimate position.

"Did the outside of his hand just touch my labia? Is that his cock touching my inner thigh? One swift plunge and he could take me." In that instant my arousal spikes and I feel an orgasmic spasm travel through me. Some drops of my juices squirt on to the sheet.

"Is he aware? He must be. I am mortified; I am not some over-sexed teenager."

He is putting the cap on the tube and stands up stepping away from me. He says nothing as he lies back down and neither do I, but my mind continues to race. No sleeping now. After a bit I raise myself and pull my pack over and pull out a paperback and resting on my elbows I start to read. It's a thriller and I'm near the end, only thirty-four pages to go; enough for now, but I also have my Kindle.

Luiz is curled on his side and... it's gentler than a snore, not heavy breathing, but I don't have the right words. In any case he's out of it.

"Did he know what he just did to me? I can't believe he didn't, but maybe he does that to all the girls. After all I hardly know him."

Tonight, he joins me for an early dinner before taking me back to the hotel.

"Maxie, tomorrow I have to go to my villa for five days. I was wondering if you would like to come stay. I enjoy your company. You'd have your own room, of course. I'd love it if you'd come, you would still have time to spend more days in Barcelona afterwards."

"I'm booked into my hotel until the end of the week."

"They won't complain if you pay for one more night. After all, look at the nights you're saving by staying with me."

I hesitate and try to imagine how John would feel if I accepted this offer. I decide he trusts me and would say, "Have some fun, just don't do anything stupid." Yes, that definitely sounds like John.

I have been silent long enough for him to think I'm not a complete pushover.

"Well, if you promise it's just to stay as a guest I would love to accept your kind offer."

As soon as he dropped me back at the hotel, I told them of my change of plans and settled my bill including payment for an extra night.

At a quarter to nine I am all packed and ready with the breakfast that was included inside me. Luiz pulls up at the front door, I wave goodbye to the receptionist and step outside.

Today the top is down on his convertible. He tells me he never puts it down in the city but now we are out into the countryside driving close to the coast. An hour later we arrive. The villa is not huge, but it does have four bedrooms so having my own is clearly no problem. It's on its own little stretch of beach, a cove between two headlands so quite private. In the lee of one of the headlands I see a yacht moored, and he promises to take me out on it the day after tomorrow.

He shows me around the villa which is sparsely but elegantly furnished. The fridge is full and there are fresh vegetables on hand but nothing about the place has a truly 'lived in' feel. It is too tidy. Before anything else I unpack my suitcase and set everything in place. I put on my bikini and add jeans, a shirt and a pair of espadrilles. As I heft my daypack with me, I go downstairs to find him on the patio lying in a hammock reading a newspaper.

"Everything good?" he asks.

"Perfect," I say as he climbs from the hammock, opens a little bar fridge and pulls out a chilled bottle of cava brut. He picks up two flutes and pours. He passes one to me as he raises his and says, "to good holidays!" For one horrible second, I thought he was going to say, "to us!" Too much, too soon.

We sip and chat, and he tells me a little of the villa's history. It was originally built as a honeymoon gift by a man who was very much in love. When he found his wife was cheating, he killed her and took her out to sea, he threw her body overboard and himself after her leaving the boat to drift away.

"What a sad story!" I say, "I'm surprised this place isn't haunted. How did you get it?"

"You might think so and nobody wanted it... but it's such a perfect spot, not too far from town and such privacy, although technically the beach is still public."

He pauses and takes his glass and mine and rinses them in the bar sink.

"Let's swim."

We go down a few steps to a strip of lawn that borders the beach and continue down to where there is already an umbrella casting shade over two loungers. As soon as we reach them, he starts to strip. Putting down my daypack I do the same. He runs naked into the water, but I keep my bikini on as I move to the water. Then at the water's edge I think "no point in getting it wet," and drop both halves on the sand. This is the Mediterranean so scarcely any tide to worry about.

One, two, three steps and I dive forward into the sea, which on my unheated body is warm and welcoming. I swim strongly mostly with my head underwater without worrying where he is, just enjoying the freedom. Before dressing at the hotel, I had taken scissors and a razor to my shaggy pubes and was now nicely groomed with just a narrow triangular landing strip pointing to my clean-shaven lips and puss.

I've always loved swimming it is the purest form of exercise. If we were not meant to fly, this is the nearest thing. I stay with it for more than half an hour and when I stop to look, I see Luiz has gone... presumably back into the villa. I let myself float and with gentle movements of my hands I drift back to shore. Walking out of the water I pick up the two pieces of my bikini. I'm not going to put it on my wet body, so I walk up the beach to the loungers. I have started to smile and let out a quiet laugh as I get to my daypack and reach in for a towel.

I am wrapping myself in it when a still naked Luiz emerges from the house and comes down the steps carefully carrying two glasses. "God he is a sight to behold!"

"This is sangria," he says, "authentic sangria."

Taking my glass, I take a sip. There are five ice cubes floating above slices of orange and lemon in the chilled liquid. Behind the taste of the rich blackish-red vino tinto, I feel the buzz of coñac. This drink is definitely 'adults only' and to be taken with caution, but highly enjoyable of course.

"I've arranged a lunch of cold cuts and salad once we finished these. We 'll eat in the shade of the patio... I hope that suits," he adds as an afterthought.

"Sounds delicious," I say.

Delicious it is. His description was understated. There's a salad of ripe sliced field tomatoes, another of mixed greens, a dish of Serrano ham served with thinly sliced Manchego and chopped arugula, large, cooked prawns on a bed of ice, sliced avocados and small freshly steamed artichoke hearts with dips of either garlic butter or a delicious vinaigrette.

We eat in relative silence just the sound of chewing and murmurs of satisfaction. We are drinking some water but twice as much red wine, a rich blend of Grenache and Carignan grapes, he tells me.

I am grateful for the strong double expresso he makes me at the end of the meal.

"You obviously love swimming," he observes as we go back to the beach. I realize the sunshine is more muted and look at my watch. It's just past four.

"We're in the shadow of the headland," he says by explanation, "still very warm but no risk of sunburn."

Still naked we walk back to the loungers. While I fiddle with my daypack, he spreads out a clean beach sheet and motions me to lie on it.

"I need to go pee," I say with sudden realization and set the daypack down quickly. Rather than return to the house I move towards the sea, but I stop some twenty yards away and squat behind a rock.

He's not watching and when I return, he again motions me to lie down. I do so and he lies down beside me. I'm aware of his closeness and his alfa maleness, half embracing it and half afraid. I know I have probably had more to drink than I should, but that ship has sailed.

"Would you like a soothing massage?" he whispers.

I don't really answer but apparently my head nods. From somewhere he produces a small bottle of fragrant oil. I let my head rest on my hands and close my eyes as a drop of oil lands between my shoulder blades. His hands move gently, first up to my neck and scalp and my senses are suffused with the heady fragrance of the oil. A light pressure on the nape of my neck is surprisingly stimulating. I'm glad when his hands retreat to my shoulders again. They vanish and suddenly he's working that magic with my feet and ankles. He takes his time working more slowly than when he was applying sunscreen. As he moves up my calves my anticipation grows.

My body is revelling in his touch. I've had spa massages but nothing like this. His hands linger on the backs of my lower thighs and then I sense him straddle me much as he had done before. He leans forward and that has to be his cock that I feel against my thigh as he begins to massage my lower back touching the pleasure spot at the base of my spine. Obviously, I must say, "Enough, stop!" but I don't and clearly, he's not expecting me to. He moves to touch my shoulders again and I feel it resting in my butt crack. I can barely keep my arousal in check. He retreats and I feel his balls rest just above my knees as he squats lightly on me. Now he is working up my inner thighs and a finger brushes me.

"Holy God!"

"Turn over," he says moving off me, and I do.

Once again, he starts at my scalp as my heartbeat tries to steady. He progresses down my body massaging my breasts and stroking my nipples into unbelievable hardness. Past my belly button and on down until he cups my vulva with one hand the base of his palm lightly pressing on my... what, well my soaking cunt of course. I am being overtaken by waves of unstoppable pleasure as other fingers brush lightly across my clitoris.

I try to rise and lift myself on my elbows and I catch a glimpse of his ferociously erect weapon before falling back. He's moved again straddling my ankles and suddenly his tongue is on my clit, his nose is nuzzling me, his tongue probing and fingers everywhere from my clit to the rosebud of my anus, all seeking ways to heighten the intensity of the pleasure. And I'm coming, surmounting one crest after another, my eyes rolling back in my head and wishing he would stop but desperately hoping he won't. There is a moment of hiatus as the tongue vanishes and his body shifts before I feel his slow and careful entrance. This is what I have been dreading, what I have been begging for, and I hear myself repeating, "please, please," but even I don't know what it means.

I have never felt so filled as his balls lodge in my groin. He withdraws slowly before starting a slowly increasing rhythm that sends little bursts of electricity from places, I never knew I had. All I can do is let it happen and yet my body is rising to meet him as my butt lifts clear off the sheet with his every thrust. I am a mindless automaton barely conscious until I feel his copious release and for the first time remember I am not currently on the pill.

My sense of loss is tangible as he withdraws, and I realize I am crying.

"There, there," he says and then, "Thank you, you were magnificent, the best!" and we cuddle on the sheet before I fall asleep.

"Wake up, it's getting cold," he says. I realize the umbrella, the loungers and everything have been put away. Only the sheet with me on it remains.

We walk back up to the villa and I hear myself saying, "I think I'll have a bath."

"Good, you do that. No rush. We'll have dinner when you are ready."

A good hour later I emerge from the bathroom and put on clean clothes. I'm feeling vaguely sore down there, certainly used, and I take a Tylenol. When I go downstairs the patio is a mass of little lights. Glass doors on rollers keep the incoming storm at bay.

"What's the weather tomorrow?" I ask.

"Oh, this will have blown through; it should be lovely. In fact, I think we might go out on the yacht tomorrow. The next day might not be as good. All through dinner we chat peaceably without reference to the afternoon's activities. He shows no desire to ask, "How was the massage?" or say anything that might embarrass me. I'm quite sure he knows I'm not planning to discuss it. Frankly, I'm not sure how to sort through my tangle of emotions.

After dinner I say, "I think I'd read," and I continue sitting on the terrace, while he goes inside to watch television. I pull out my Kindle. I've started reading 'Time Sharing', a novel by Dawn Ramble, but much as I love erotica it's not the right choice tonight, so I find a detective story instead.

Later as I lie in bed, I review the day... well, the afternoon, and how I feel: "guilt, possibly a little?" I do know that was one outstanding unforgettable fuck. The kind all others will be measured against whether I wish it or not. I'm startled at how powerful my arousal had been and how it had taken over. That I would never have guessed. I go to turn over and something pricks me. I turn back the sheet and a second under sheet. At first, I see nothing and then a glint of gold. From a deep crevice in the seam of the mattress I am able using my tweezers to raise something to the light. It's backing for an earring. I smile as I transfer it to a small pocket in my daypack.

The sun is shining brightly when I wake. I look at my watch, twenty to eight. I shower and put sunscreen on everywhere I am able to reach, before donning my one piece and a collared shirt and pair of shorts. Luiz is buzzing with excitement as I enter the living area.

"Ready for some breakfast before we sail?" he asks leading me to a table where a variety of pastries and fruits are laid out. He pours me a café-au-lait in a wide bowl with no handle. I lift it with both hands and take a sip. He has not held back on the expresso. I load my dinner plate with two croissants and some pain beurre rather than the sweeter, stickier confections. I top this off with a fresh fig and a pear along with a slice of goat cheese.

He continues to circle around me as I eat, and I surmise he must have already consumed a lot of coffee. As soon as I carry my empty plate to the sink, he suggests it's time to go. I take the time to brush my teeth and go to the loo before letting him hurry me down to the shore. Using a complicated pulley, he manoeuvres the boat within feet of the beach, so we are able to climb aboard with the water just lapping at the hem of my shorts. With his help I lift my daypack abord before climbing in. Luiz pulls us back out to the buoy and untethers us. He starts the engine and guides us into open water before raising the sail into the strengthening breeze.

I watch as the shore recedes behind us, and we continue sailing until we can no longer see land. There are a couple of boats in the distance but nothing near as he lowers the sail, and we start to drift aimlessly. He drops what I take to be a sea anchor over the bow to counter the effect of the breeze.

"We can swim here if you want," he says as he pulls off his top.

"Okay, I guess. If you are sure, it's safe," and I take off my shirt and fold it in my day pack. I drop my shorts too and stop to pick them up leaving me standing in my one piece as he kicks off his shorts. I can see he is already somewhat aroused.

"I hoped you would be naked too," he grumbles.

"Well, If it bothers you," I say and peel it to my waist then push it to the floor. I turn to put it in my daypack and sense him behind me.

Looking round I see he is holding a knife. I freeze, as he says, "There's a good little whore. I kill whores like you who cheat on their husbands. Turn and sit and I'll tell you what is going to happen. I'll cut you until you scream for mercy and then I cut out your cheating cunt and throw you to the fishes."

I spin swiftly putting the day pack between us as I release my pepper spray into his eyes. He backs away screaming as my other hand emerges holding a compact automatic. He dives over the side, presumably to clear his eyes, but the fight is over. The two boats are no longer in the distance and coming in fast.

For several months bodies or parts thereof had been washing up on Mediterranean beaches as far apart as Seville and Marseilles. It took a while to connect their DNA to the victims. All five it was established were married women who had set off alone for a European vacation, one from Buffalo and the others from Ontario in Canada. Autopsies on the three most complete bodies showed they had been murdered and much like the victims of Jack the Ripper their vaginas had been severely mutilated. And there the trail ended until six weeks ago when parts of an older corpse were caught in the net of a fisherman out of Salé, near the town of Rabat in Morocco. DNA from this corpse matched that of a woman reported missing almost a year earlier by a resident of Barcelona. From what was recovered however, it was impossible to say whether she had been murdered or was the victim of a tragic accident.

It was noted that this man had an erratic pattern of travelling to Canada several times over the last few months but there was nothing tangible to connect him to any of the murdered the women. I'm an RCMP officer and when a request came through Interpol and the NCB for a single female officer thirty to forty-five to go undercover, I put my hand-up. It would require posing as a married woman travelling on her own just like the victims and see if the suspect made an approach. In my briefing I was asked, if contact were made, if I would be comfortable to enter into a flirtatious relationship and try to draw out information that might incriminate or exonerate the prime suspect.

I was equipped with a daypack with a hidden camera and microphone that I could activate at will as well as a tracking beacon and alarm that would be monitored by both the French and Spanish National Police. I was to act at my own discretion with the strict caveat that it must not involve putting myself at risk. When I boarded the plane, I knew he was to be among the passengers. I could scarcely believe it when he dropped into the seat beside me on the plane. What were the chances of that? Inquiries were already being made at Pearson about tampering with seat allocation.

When I returned to Ottawa to be debriefed, I was immediately called aside by a technical officer who told me he had listened and viewed all the recordings.

"I tried sending a written summary upstairs, but they insisted on having the recordings themselves."

He then let me watch and listen. I hadn't activated it while we roved around sightseeing but had briefly as soon as we were alone at the public beach. While the camera watched the sea the mic caught our occasional brief snatches of conversation. The tech hurried through many of what he now knew were the silences. However, we caught the loud sigh I gave as his sunscreen massage gave me an unexpected climax, but only I knew that was the cause. The camera caught our quick dip in the sea shortly before we packed up to go to dinner.

I did not activate it again until after our arrival at the villa and I found Luiz in the hammock. It caught perfectly Luiz's tale of the cheating wife and her murder and disposal, but it wasn't a confession, more of a veiled boast. I activated it again on the beach and the camera caught me walking back nude from my swim. I knew it had when I gave it a smile. It had earlier shown Luiz in all his glory and nothing else. I watch in terrified suspense as I know what is yet to come, and pray I am wrong.

No such luck, every intimacy of the massage and our subsequent coupling is captured on 4k video. The soundtrack with its grunts and the slaps and squelches of fevered flesh could have outshone most porn films. I cringe as I hear my repeated, "please, please," worse perhaps than if I had uttered something more vulgar. The final recording is of course on the yacht and includes enough damning evidence for a clear conviction of attempted murder.

As it finishes the technician says, "I thought you needed to be forewarned."

"They have all of this upstairs?' he nods. I try not to notice the very hard bulge in his pants as I say my thanks. "France and Spain too," he adds.

The gold earring backing I had found was unusual and part of a pair worn by the last woman victim they had found and that clinches additional charges of murder and desecration of a body.

Little is said about the video when I am summoned upstairs but I'm given a severe verbal reprimand for putting myself at extreme risk. Nothing of this I'm assured will go into my file. I receive instead a written commendation for acting 'above and beyond' and am assured of a favorable recommendation for promotion. The presiding officer cannot help saying, "it seems you were also able to have some fun. I'm glad; it was well deserved," and the other two senior officers chuckle. Blushing I leave the room. The technician is waiting in the lobby.

"Thanks for the heads up," I say before he can say anything.

"I'd like to see more of you, " he says and immediately goes scarlet in the face, "I mean... I mean," he gargles.

"I know what you mean. I'm on my way back to Toronto, but here's my number," I say scribbling it.

Postscript: Just in case you're confused, I am not Max Power, no husband John, no cheating, all a cover story, but the rest is true, embarrassingly true.

Shortly after I did receive awards from France and Spain accompanied by flattering letters of commendation and that was that.

Copyright: © Dawn Ramble 2025