The Deconstruction and Death of a Natural Beauty. Book 3 in the Ty Connell 'Novella Series' by Michael C. Hughes. A Mystery/Suspense Thriller. Sometimes the Softest Take the Hardest Hits. by Michael C. Hughes

Author:Michael C. Hughes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder, mystery, mystery suspense, mystery detective, mystery action suspense thriller, mystery and murder, murder and suspense, mystery and crime series, mystery contemporary, murder and mystery thriller

Whenever Drago pushed Ronalee a bit, to join the group, to have a smoke or have a drink, she demurred and he backed off.

“Hey, that’s cool, babe. I just want you to have a nice time.”

But everyone could see that every word Drago said to her was calculated and planned, part of a gradual, drop-by-drop, hour-by-hour, day-by-day campaign to break down her resistance. He had reasoned—quite rightly—that he’d never get a woman the quality and rarity of Ronalee by pressuring or threatening. If it was just wanted an attractive well-stacked gal to accompany him on trips, he could have his pick of strippers, hookers, and addicted alcoholic emotional basket cases from his own circle. Many of whom actually looked up to him as a cool kind of guy.

But that’s not what he wanted. He wanted what he couldn’t have. He wanted Ronalee.

So he tracked her cautiously. One misstep and the game is off and gone for good. But Drago was a skilled stalker. And he knew that, with enough patience, he could figure out the chink in her amour. He enjoyed the game. And, while she wasn’t looking and wasn’t around—off on one of her “walks”—he was having his pick of party girls at the beach bar. For him the trip was pure win win.

Then one evening, their second last, Ronalee had a few more daiquiris than she planned to have. Real daiquiris with real alcohol. It was a farewell Friday night back-to-work-and-reality party for those flying home in two days. The idea being that they’d need the next day, Saturday, to sleep late and recover from Friday night, then pack and turn in early to be up for an early flight Sunday. It was an ongoing type of farewell party held each Friday night on the beach in front of the hotel.

They were sitting around on lawn chairs and logs, watching the sparks fly up from a fire and kicking back with drinks in hand, trading stories, playing out the string after five days in paradise. Ronalee was seated in the sand next to Drago, an evening shawl around her shoulders.

Several were smoking and passing around joints. Drago had been watching Ronalee closely and he’d sensed a subtle shift. That she was more relaxed, as well she should be after five days of sun, sand, and long walks. She was less tense and, maybe, less guarded.

The first joint was eventually drawn down and disappeared. Then Drago made a subtle shift in his laid back strategy. He pulled out a joint himself, lit it, and passed it around.

“Cheers,” he said, as he handed it off.

Before long, he’d had lit up another, and the two joints were being passed in opposite directions, eventually, coming back to Drago—and to Ronalee. Ronalee, several times, had passed it to the woman beside her until one of the group finally said, “Aw, for Pete’s sake, Ronalee, we’re heading back to the real world in two days. Have one toke for the road and lighten up.”

Hearing this and seizing his cue, Drago smoothly reached into his pocket and pulled out yet another joint.

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