Chapter 2
Carlee only remembered bits and pieces from that night.
The bullet had missed her heart by mere centimeters, instead lodging itself high in her left lung.
The department had made her take disability, so here she was, forced out of the only job she'd ever known at thirty-two. She had argued with the brass, told them she was fine to keep working, but they hadn't seen it her way.
Then the phone calls had started. When she would answer, there was nothing but static on the other end.
Her old Sargent, and good friend, had put her in touch with some people he thought would be able to help her.
Now she stood at their door. F.L.A.G. the sign read. The Foundation for Law and Government.
Carlee rang the bell, not quite sure what to expect. She certainly didn't expect what she saw. Six foot three, give or take an inch or two, the man who opened the door had sun bronzed skin and dark, curly hair. He wore jeans, cowboy boots, a red button down shirt, and a black leather jacket. His face lit with a friendly smile when he saw Carlee. His deep blue eyes glinted with a hint of mischief.
"Hi!" Carlee smiled nervously. "I'm here to see Devon Miles. I'm Carlee Stanton."
"Oh! Hi! I'm Michael Knight," the man replied, an easy smile lighting his face as he stuck out his hand to shake Carlee's. "I think I remember Devon mentioning he was expecting you. Follow me, and I'll take you to him."
* * *
Devon looked up from the paperwork he'd been working on when Michael walked in followed by Carlee.
"Oh, Michael, I'm glad to see you've met Ms. Stanton," Devon said, as he rose to formally introduce himself and shake hands with Carlee. "She is your new assignment." Devin was an older gentleman. His neatly cut gray hair framed a distinguished face. When he spoke, Carlee caught a mild English accent.
Devon and Michael listened as Carlee described her last case as a homicide detective for the LAPD and her subsequent forced retirement, the phone calls, and her suspicions.
"So, you think this Mutilator some how managed to survive a bullet and fall down a bluff?" Michael asked at the end.
"Yes! This guy's a madman! He masterminded the kidnap and mutilation of six millionaires in LA in the ten months leading up to that night. He was fixated on me and he won't rest until he's killed me," Carlee replied, more than a little irked that this man was questioning her cop's instincts.
"Hey! Take it easy," Michael tried to sooth her. "I understand where you're coming from, I used to be a cop, too."
"I'm sorry, it's just these last two months, the phone calls. He's toying with me. Trying to make me crack. I'm afraid he may be succeeding. I've had to concentrate on getting back on my feet, so I haven't been able to try tracking him down. Damn! I just feel so helpless."
"Michael will look into the phone calls. In the mean time, I think you would be safer staying here at the mansion. Michael will take you to get some of your things," Devon said, concern written on his face.
Carlee rose, thanking Devon and Michael profusely. "I really don't want to be a bother," Carlee began, only to be cut off by Devon and Michael who simultaneously told her it was no trouble.
Michael rose and followed Carlee out the front of the mansion. "If you don't mind, we'll take my car," Michael said, motioning to a shiny, black T-top Trans Am.
Glad to let someone else drive for a change, Carlee happily acquiesced.
Carlee couldn't believe the interior of the car. The dash board had more lights, buttons, and dials than she had ever seen in a car before. She thought they might be appropriate for the space shuttle, or the star ship Enterprise, but not a T-top.
Michael took in her amazement with a smile. "Sure is something, isn't it?"
A small shiver made its way up and down her spine when Michael smiled, and her stomach began to do cartwheels.