Sitting in a darkened corner of the parking lot at Tampa's Bayside Mall, I waited patiently for my contact to arrive. The drizzling rain beaded on my windshield, pooled, then streamed downward towards the wipers. With the weather conditions the way they were I expected Michael Whittaker to be running late. Flights from Washington D.C. to Tampa International were notorious for being delayed in rainy weather. It didn't really matter since I wasn't in any hurry.
I watched the traffic passing by on the four-lane highway, listened to Manilow on CD and smoked one cigarette after another, wishing I had a cup of coffee. I wasn't sure what kind of car Michael would be driving since it would be a rental, but I knew which parking space he'd pull into.
A gray Ford Five-Hundred sedan cruised slowly through the parking lot, easing into the prearranged parking space, a single male driver behind the wheel. I smoked one more cigarette before driving over next to it, wanting to see if anyone suspicious might be following him. Starting the engine in my Cadillac XLR roadster, I switched on the headlights and shifted into drive.
Michael gave me a smile but looked slightly exasperated when I pulled up next to him.
"I've been waiting for ten minutes!" He exclaimed, reaching for something on the seat next to him.
"So! I've been waiting for an hour!" I retorted. "You don't hear me bitching, do you?"
"Here!" He grumbled, handing me an overstuffed manila envelope. "It's all there!
Opening the packet, I looked inside counting ten packs of hundred dollar bills, fifty bills in each pack.
"Looks like it's all there." I affirmed.
"Trust me. It's all there." Michael assured, running his fingers through his salt-and-paper, gray-black hair.
For a man in his early fifties, I found him quite attractive but I wasn't about to mention it to him. His ego was already twice the size it should be for a man in his position. More than just a messenger and the guy who made the pay-offs, Michael was the head of an organization called the "Predator Group". Known only to those in the organization and a few top government officials in Washington, the group's sole purpose was to extract justice on those who deserved it.
Thanks to court judges who were more concerned about jail overcrowding and manipulative, well paid attorneys, many hardened criminals were getting off with short sentences or probation. The Predator Group was formed to reduce jail overcrowding in another way, by eliminating the criminals altogether. Felons who committed the most serious of crimes were our targets, our only targets. Rapists and child molesters were dealt with in prison. They got what they deserved and no one, least of all the Predator Group, cared.
"I've got another transaction I need you to take care." Michael asserted, handing me another manila envelope. "This one's not too far from here. Longboat Key to be exact."
"Same deal?" I questioned, pulling a handful of papers from the packet.
"Fifty grand. Just like always." Michael affirmed, starting his rental car. "Call me when you've completed the transaction."
With that said, he drove off, leaving me to look over the information in the privacy of my car. Scanning over the documents and photographs, I found it was another major drug dealer who'd been caught with a kilo of cocaine but somehow managed to get off on a legal technicality. Illegal search and seizure without a proper warrant was the most common form of police mistakes. With so many legalities forced on law enforcement personnel, it was a wonder anyone was being convicted.
Stuffing the documents back into the envelope, I drove out of the parking lot, heading back towards my hotel. The rain finally stopped, making it possible to drive without having the wipers on. Rolling down my window, I rested my arm on the doorsill, then lit up another cigarette.
A neon sign "Whiskey Willies" caught my eye. Slowing, I checked out the parking lot, finding it nearly filled. Figuring it must be one of the hotter spots in town, I turned in, finding a well-lit parking space near the rear of the building. Securing the money and the documents in the trunk, I set the car's alarm and disconnected the ignition system.
Loud music resonated off the walls from the live band on stage. Allowing time for my eyes to adjust to the muted lighting, I saw an open barstool at the end of the bar.
"Double Scotch, no ice." I replied when the bartender asked what I wanted.
After giving me a second look, he went about getting my drink. At five-foot eight with short, platinum blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes, I often got second looks. More often than not, from other woman, some of whom I found quite attractive. I kept my figure in shape by exercising and jogging on a regular basis. Although I was thirty-five, I could easily pass for someone in their late twenties. Married twice but divorced only once, I still considered myself single. I had no idea where Rick, my estranged husband for the past three years was, nor did I care.
"Would you care to dance?" A handsome guy in his early thirties asked, approaching me from the right.
"Sure." I replied, giving him a soft smile.
Pulled into his arms, I barely got a good look at him. Even in high-heels, he was taller than me by a good three inches. His cologne, warmed by his body, permeated my nostrils. He smelled fantastic and his slow dancing had me pressing myself against him. Slipping my hand to the back of his head, I sifted my fingers into his thick sandy-blonde hair.
"I hope you realize how much you're turning me on." He whispered in my ear.
"I do." I murmured, feeling his hard cock pressing against my pelvis.
"Do you have this effect on most men?" He questioned, followed by a slight laugh.
"I certainly hope so." I murmured, letting my lips brush lightly over his cheek.
We danced through the next two songs, both of which were up-tempo. My new high-heels were taking their toll on my feet so I welcomed hearing the band was going to take a short break.
"Would you care to have a drink with my wife and me?" The guy asked, stunning me for a second.
"Sure, why not?" I replied, trying my best not to sound too disappointed. "Let me get my drink and my purse from the bar."
"We're sitting at that table over there." He stated, pointing to a beautiful dark-haired woman, who looked about the same age as her husband, somewhere around thirty.
I had a notion to grab my purse, toss down my drink and head for the nearest exit but something inside me told me not to. Besides, it was too early to return to my hotel, knowing I'd probably just end up watching television.
"This is Kaitlyn and I'm Justin." The guy stated when I joined them.
"Hi. I'm Amanda." I responded, daintily shaking the woman's hand.
Kaitlyn was beautiful, more so than I originally thought since I was seeing her up close. The luster of her dark brown shoulder-length hair and bright green eyes captivated my attention. Sitting at the table alongside her, I assumed she was about my height. Kaitlyn was wearing a white scoop neck top that showed off her breasts without being too flaunting.
"Are you down her vacationing?" Kaitlyn inquired, her southern draw quite prominent.
"No, I'm afraid not." I replied. "I'm down her taking care of some personal business."
"Where from?" Justin asked with a picture perfect smile. "We're from Valdosta, Georgia."
"Oh, I know where that is." I asserted. "I'm from a little town in south central Missouri. A town you've probably never heard of."
Thankfully, neither of them asked specifically which town, since I didn't want to divulge the name of the small town I'd moved to. Keeping my anonymity was a priority in my line of work.
"We come down every few weeks....just to see what's going on." Kaitlyn disclosed, trying to keep the conversation going. "It's a four hour drive but it gets us away from the kids."
"What line of work are you in?" Justin inquired, motioning for the waitress to bring us another round of drinks..
"Oh.....you might say I'm in public relations." I stammered, almost bursting out laughing. "What about you?"
"I'm a financial advisor. Kaitlyn here teaches elementary school." Justin avowed.
"I see you're married." The woman muttered, tapping her index finger on my diamond ring.
"Sort of married." I grumbled without thinking. "We pretty much live separate lives."
"So, he isn't down here with you?" Justin assumed, grinning.
"No. Afraid not." I responded with a laugh, hoping they'd take it as a joke.
The three of us continued chatting until the band resumed playing. I danced with Justin twice before he managed to coax his wife out onto the dance floor. Kaitlyn was wearing a white leather skirt, which the hemline was just a few inches above her knees. It was snug enough to show off her fantastic figure without constricting her movements. The slow dance allowed them to talk with each other. I suspicioned I was the subject of their conversation.
An hour later, after dancing with Justin several more times, we all agreed it was time to call it a night. Kaitlyn wasn't much of a drinker, sipping on a Bloody Mary that had long grown warm.
Stepping out into the warm night air, I stopped for a second to light up a cigarette. Justin put his arm around Kaitlyn, pulling her in close.
"Amanda, would you care to join us for one last drink?" Justin inquired, reaching for my hand. "Perhaps in our hotel room."
Looking first at Kaitlyn, I saw she had a look on her face that I'd hopefully agree. Justin had pretty much the same look.
