Chapter 1: The Case
Sandra Wilson wasn't happy. But then, she hadn't been happy since the whole DeVere-George Blair business. Okay, it might have been an operation that the Vice squad shouldn't have had any part of. But they'd prevented murder, killed one of the most dangerous assassins in Europe and avoided a full-scale scandal. What was their reward?
Heads had rolled!
It had become political, fast. Donny Webster, Head of London Met's Vice team, had been forced into early retirement. Taffy Boyd, the Narcotics wireman who'd surreptitiously helped them, had been transferred to some stick-in-the-mud hamlet.
And Jack Palmer had almost got thrown in jail. The only thing that had saved him was his hasty resignation and signed documents confirming he'd never publicly discuss the case. It was so unfair. Jack had been a fundamental part of their achievements. Now he'd been reduced to working as a private investigator, whereas she'd been promoted to take charge of Vice.
Frankly, it stunk.
So did the rumours reaching her ears right now—about a certain Donald Appleby. The apparently legitimate global businessman had been mentioned too many times for her liking. There were too many loose ends, all seeming to point to some sort of involvement. They had so many Vice cases on the go and almost without exception, Appleby's name seemed to crop up somewhere or other.
The brunette had Jack Palmer to thank for her instincts. Her friend and ex-fellow cop had mentored her well. Those same gut feelings had led the team to Dominic DeVere, and to George Blair, of course, even though they eventually hadn't been able to pin a thing on the Labour leader. The Commissioner's decision to break-up their team had seen to that but Blair had been heavily involved all the same.
Thank goodness he hadn't won the General Election, although had the British public seen those compromising photographs of Alistair Brinkley-Jones before they'd voted, in all likelihood it would have been Blair and not the Conservative leader who'd taken power.
Brinkley-Jones reign as Prime Minister had been the shortest in political history and that was no more than the scumbag deserved. Sandra Wilson had brought lots of criminals to justice for their involvement in vice, but those in high places always seemed to find a way out.
She wasn't going to allow that to happen with Donald Appleby...
She couldn't prove a thing—yet—but her antennae had gone up and intuitively she knew this was something she should follow up. A secretive phone call to Taffy Boyd had seen the Welshman do some checking behind the scenes. He'd confirmed that Appleby was on their list of people Narcotics were interested in, but with nothing more than a few unusable comments from contacts to support that curiosity.
She helped herself to a coffee from the machine and glanced at her watch. It would be another couple of hours before her team arrived. God, she hated these ridiculously early starts but her workload didn't give her much choice
At times like this she wished the old team were still together. What she'd give for Donny Webster and Jack Palmer to be working on this with her. She still had Alex Goodwin, of course—good old reliable Alex. The barrel-chested man had taken the splitting of the team hard, too and some of the fire had gone out. Although he continued to keep himself in great shape, he was pushing sixty and his main objective nowadays seemed to be reaching retirement.
They hadn't spoken much recently. The barrier that had been between them ever since she'd ended their affair had solidified once he'd married Sally. Their sudden wedding had surprised her, even though Goodwin had known the female chef for a long time. Six months later he was separated again and although she could have asked him about it, opening up some old wounds was the last thing she wanted.
Alex was still loyal to her, of course. She knew that. He'd run through a brick wall if she asked. That's why she'd ask him to help on this case. She needed someone she could trust, especially with the rumours of bent cops still being whispered throughout the Met.
It wasn't just that, of course. The two female cops she had set up to work undercover with her needed some protection. Kirsten was sufficiently experienced to take care of herself, of course. But Alice was new to all of this. The twenty-four year old female Detective reminded her so much of herself at that age. Alice had the same eagerness and fearlessness as a young Sandra Wilson and despite her stunning looks, had a sharp brain on her. This was no stereotypical blonde!
Still, it would be her first real case and she'd need some extra guidance. And who better to provide that than Alex Goodwin. Having the two of them working in the same Unit was unusual and this would be the first time they were both involved in the same case. But the more she thought it through, the more sense it made.
Alice had been okay with the idea when she'd told her she was going to involve her father, too. She'd assess Goodwin's reaction when she spoke to him before the team meeting.
***
"Angela, pop into my office," Donald Appleby instructed.
Replacing the phone before she could answer, he unfastened his belt and worked his trousers and boxers around his knees. It would save time. Reaching forward, he unscrewed the top of a small phial and allowed a single drop of the liquid to splash into the drink he'd just poured. It settled in seconds, turning the white wine into what appeared to be rosé.
A blush wine would have been a better term. Appleby Blush.
The large floor to ceiling window behind his desk framed the London skyline as if it were an oil painting. It wasn't the scene behind him that his secretary's gaze fixed on as she entered his office. It was the way her pony tailed employer was idly fondling his erect cock.
The lewd scene always aroused her.
Walking across to the impressive desk, the young woman took the glass he held out to her and threw it down in one go. He never got tired of looking at her, a cross between Demi Moore and Jeanne Tripplehorn, though her jet black hair was much shorter than either. She loved the way her employer always offered her wine before their lovemaking sessions. The drink even seemed to increase her arousal...
She was already unbuttoning her white blouse as she made her way around to his side of the desk, her deep brown eyes focusing on the semi erect cock that grew larger with every jerking stroke of his hand.
"Let me help," she breathed in that upper class voice as she rounded the desk and ripped the cups of her bra upwards. Her Playboy-like breasts bounced free.
She fed one to his mouth as her hand replaced his, corkscrewing her fingers around the shaft as he immediately took one of her pink nipples between his lips. Her free hand found his pony tail, gripping it tightly as his teeth playfully pulled on the hard bud.
Appleby felt his manhood grow further under her expert touch. Young flesh was the fifty-year-old man's lifeblood. There was never a shortage with his status and his secretary was as hot as they came. The recently developed liquid aphrodisiac she'd just consumed always turned her from a shy but voluptuous looking woman into a sex crazed bitch.
The drug brought out the animal in a woman, arousing them beyond anything they'd ever experienced. A single dose generally kicked in for a two hour period, but with some females it seemed to last much longer. A couple of drops kept the woman on heat all night.
Appleby Blush, they'd christened it. It would make him millions...
