Caroline Stewart was a 19 year veteran of the FBI stationed in Cleveland, and was the Senior Agent in Charge of the office in the downtown area. She had moved up through the ranks quickly because of her ability to analyze complex situations and to devise solutions that minimized collateral damage. She had participated in many agency raids and was responsible for quite a few felons serving sentences in federal prisons across the country.
She supervised an office with 18 agents; 14 men and 4 women, and they were very successful, for a government agency, at their jobs. Although Caroline spent most of her time in the office, she still relished the opportunity to occasionally join her agents in the field.
Caroline had been married for a few years during her 20's, but her moves within the agency put a strain on the marriage so they divorced after four years. Since then, Caroline had dated several men, and had sex with only four of them. There were times when she regretted the failure of her marriage, but then her job would intrude and she would soon push it out of her mind. She certainly wouldn't have had any problems getting dates if she wanted. Even with a small scar on her cheek, she was still a looker. Caroline, at 40 years of age, was 5'6" tall and a solid 125 pounds. She measured a respectable 36-25-37 and had dishwater blond hair and a very pretty face that made her look much younger than her 40 years.
In her 19 years with the agency, she had only been hurt one time when she was run off the road outside of Baltimore during a high speed chase, which resulted in the small scar on her cheek when her windshield disintegrated during the subsequent crash. But that was 10 years ago and even with the scar, she was still pretty hot.
Antoine Jefferson was the indirect cause of her scar. He had been running drugs and prostitutes out of a small compound in South Baltimore when Caroline and seven other agents raided the facility. Antoine and his lieutenant escaped in an SUV and Caroline and her partner pursued. In a last ditch effort, Antoine veered his SUV off the side of the FBI's Impala resulting in both vehicles wrecking. Although all four were briefly hospitalized, Caroline and her partner were on hand to testify and see Antoine and his cronies get 15 year sentences with a chance for parole after ten years. A few years later, Caroline transferred to Cleveland.
It had been a long week and Caroline decided to meet two of her girlfriends at Alexander's Irish Pub for cocktails and dinner. They sat and caught up with each other and Caroline listened to her friends complain about their husband's bad habits and their perfect children. Caroline usually couldn't say much because of the sensitive nature of her work. One of her girlfriends had to leave, so Caroline and Cindy stayed for another drink.
As they were sitting at the table, a young black man was sitting at the bar watching them. The man's name was Andre Jefferson and he was the son of Antoine. He was 6'3" and about 220 pounds of muscle. Andre was only eight years old when this FBI bitch sent his old man to prison 10 years ago. He cut her picture out of the paper after the trial and kept it in a box in his room waiting for his opportunity. And now, it looks like it just might be coming soon.
He had begun stalking her two months ago and knew that she stopped for coffee every morning at the same coffee shop. So he made it a point to spend the last six weeks being seen by her there. Some days he would be sitting at the table reading a book as she bought her coffee, and other days he would just be leaving as she was going in. Some days he would be in front of her in line and other days, he wouldn't be there. Over the five weeks, she eventually took notice of the young black man who seemed to be on the same morning coffee schedule as her. They even spoke, in passing, a few times.
He slowly walked up to their table and said, "Excuse me Maam, but I recognize you from someplace."
She looked up at the handsome black man and said, "Coffee. Don't you stop every morning at Candy's Coffee Shoppe?" He smiled and nodded his head.
He smiled at the two women and asked, "May I buy you ladies a drink?"
"No thanks," Cindy said. "We're just going to finish these and then head for home."
He smiled at them and said, "OK, maybe next time." He looked at Caroline and said, "My name is Andre. See you tomorrow."
The next morning, Andre managed to be in front of Caroline in line. "Good morning Andre," she said.
"Well, good morning, uh . . . er . . . "
"Caroline," she said.
"That's a pretty name. Good morning Caroline."
They continued their routine for the next week. On the next weekend, Caroline again went out with her girlfriends to Alexander's. She wore a skirt that was just a couple of inches above her knees and a tight tee shirt. When they walked in, Caroline immediately noticed Andre sitting at the bar. The women found a table while Caroline walked over and said hello to Andre. "Well, Andre, I haven't seen you since this morning."
"Caroline," he smiled and touched her arm. "It's good to see you. Out with your friends again, I suppose?"
"Yep. Most Friday nights we're here."
"Well it's good to see you again. You look nice tonight. Maybe we should go dancing after your friends leave."
She smiled and blushed at his comment and said, "Andre, stop it. I'm old enough to be your mother."
"Oh, I don't think so, Caroline."
She raised her eyebrows and said, "Just how old are you, young man?"
He pulled his wallet from his pants and showed her his fake driver's license that showed him to be 29 years old. "See. So unless you're 50 years old, and I'm sure you're not, you're not old enough to be my mother."
She was surprised at his age. She would have guessed him to be in his early 20's at best. And she couldn't understand why she was still standing here talking to this young black man. Granted he was handsome and big and strong. And Caroline had no problem with black men. She reported to one early in her career and she had three currently reporting to her. She had never gone out, or even considered going out with one. It was almost like they were taboo. She always felt that she was in control when she dated, but her deeply held feelings about black men were confusing. She wasn't sure that she could be in control, or even if she would want to be in control.
Damn! Why was she even thinking about this? She had just met Andre. She knew nothing about him. He was too young for her and he was black. She laughed at his remark and said, "Well, I'm not 50, but I'm old enough to be your older sister."
