Deliver Us From Evil…and the Six O’Clock News by W. H. Adair

Author:W. H. Adair [Adair, W. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bungalow Books Publishing
Published: 2024-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

ADRIENNE

One Week before the Dig

OPENING ONE EYE, ADRIENNE recognized the mural she’d painted on her living room ceiling.

Home, she thought. Thank God. Feel like holy hell.

She raised her head enough to sight down her body. Fully clothed. Well, except for the blouse partly buttoned … but her slacks were still zipped.

A déjà vu moment sent her back twenty years, waking up in her dorm a disheveled mess and sore everywhere. Blood. She had blood on her shirt and pants, with no memory of what had happened. She remembered the dryness in her mouth, the fuzziness in her brain … the horror of not knowing and the fear of remembering.

The heavy weight on her chest wasn’t the beginnings of a heart attack. Her ten-pound Russian Blue, Catrina, was draped across her upper chest. She moved the cat and tried to sit up.

Think. She’d changed after work to meet Jack Tremayne … at that French bistro. He was charming. It wasn’t a real date, but she hadn’t felt so hot for a man in a long time. She’d friend-dated a few times but no one serious since coming to Houston and escaping her dangerous ex.

Maybe her libido was waiting to let loose. The last she remembered was feeling woozy after drinking the wine.

Pulling Catrina back into her lap, she hugged her close. Her mind reeled. Tremayne. He brought me home. Did I ask him in? I never bring men here.

An empty bottle of cabernet lay on its side on the coffee table next to two stemless wine glasses. They’d evidently had more wine. No wonder she felt so odd, her mouth so dry. But why the déjà vu moment to the rape so long ago?

Adrienne tried to stand and nearly tripped. She was wearing only one of her red Jimmy Choos. Kicking off the three-inch heel, she picked up the empty bottle and glasses and placed them on the granite pass-through to the kitchen as gently as possible—no breakage, no loud sound.

Looking around, she noted the red pillows on the gray leather sofa. The Native American jug on the bookcase was in its place. As far as she could see, nothing was broken. Maybe nothing happened. She found herself rubbing her left wrist. A purple bruise was beginning to form … almost in the shape of a hand. She shuddered.

Shower. She needed to shower for about an hour. Her mind was sputtering, dragging through parts of last night and racing through worries about today. She was talking to herself or the cat. “Hildy will go nuclear if she thinks Tremayne hurt me in any way. At the very least, she’d demand the station pull him from the shoot.”

As much as she’d like never to see Tremayne again, Adrienne couldn’t prove he’d done anything to her … and she didn’t need the negative publicity. Hell, I’ll come off as promiscuous and whiny, sleeping with someone on a first date and then bitching about it.

Who’d believe the much-honored newscaster had to resort to drugging his dates.

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