Short Story...

I know I haven't posted anything lately, and I apologize for that. I'll try and get some more Perfect Strangers up soon, but for now, please accept the beginning of my new little short story inspired by the most intense dream I've ever had, minus my nightmares... It doesn't have a title yet, so if any of you think of something, let me know!


The sun blazed overhead making the road something of a mirage in front of the car. The haze made the black asphalt ooze and melt in zig-zags in the distance before dropping out of sight completely. The radio was on in the car, playing the only station she could pick up, a thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead. She cursed the beater of a car she drove, but instantly forgave it for being a piece of junk, stroking the steering wheel fondly.
Kayleigh had the money to get a new car, but she couldn’t bring herself to part from the lunker her father had driven for what must have been his entire life, and now Kayleigh was determined to run it into the ground when it died. That’s how her father would have wanted it. They had brought it over seas with them when they moved from England for her father’s job. She never knew what he did, he wasn’t allowed to give her any specific details, but she knew what his job title was. MI-6 liason and Deception Specialist for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. When he was killed the week before Kayleigh’s seventeenth birthday she swore she would continue his legacy. He had always taught her what he knew, and she flew through her schooling, quickly ranking at the top of her class.

Finding work, however, was a new challenge.

Eventually she  landed herself a menial job as a cop for the Las Vegas police. She hated her job. Everything her father had taught her had been very valuable to her, and enabled her to put some of Vegas’ most wanted criminals behind bars all before she was twenty-two. The precinct was impressed by her skill, and as such, everyone wanted her on their squad, but as the director wanted, she became more of a floater, moving from case to case as her skills were required. Sure, this allowed her to dip her toes in every pool, seeing what she was best at, but it wasn’t fulfilling to her. She wanted more. She wanted to be just like her father.

Rolling into the parking garage for her apartment complex brought immediate relief from the heat outside. Despite that fact that it was nearly sundown, the temperature was still well above eighty degrees. She made her way to the elevator, stripping her blazer off of her, the material from the lining sticking to her skin as she peeled it off. When she stepped off the elevator, she was in nothing but her bra and jeans. Her door was directly across the hall; it took her two steps to reach the door, keys outstretched, when someone called her name.

“Kayleigh Cox?” the voice asked, deep and official sounding.

She looked over her left shoulder to where the voice had spoken. There was a man in a crisp black suit leaning against the wall by the elevator. His posture was rigid despite the casual pose he had adopted, his arms locked over his chest, head erect. She couldn’t see his eyes because of the dark Ray-Bans he wore, but she didn’t need to see his eyes to read him. His mouth was drawn into a thin line, lips pressed together tightly. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, his nose crinkling and brows drawing together for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. Contempt. Why was he showing her contempt?

Raymond Lezario.

This man was probably one of his cronies here to kill her because she had just put him away for life.

Her hand moved slowly to the gun at her hip.

“Are you Kayleigh Cox, Las Vegas PD?” he asked, his mouth hardly opening to speak the words.

She debated answering him, watching his face. Another flash of contempt and rising annoyance. “And you are?” she asked, her accent catching him off guard.

“Agent Brown, FBI,” he replied, relaxing only in the slightest. “I need to speak with you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Please, come in,” she said, despite the fact that she had yet to enter her home herself.

When they entered, she invited him to sit while she went to her room to throw on a t-shirt. She knew that she was taking a risk. She hadn’t asked the man for any identification, but when he had stated his name there were no signs that he was lying. When she returned he had removed his glasses and was staring intensely at her wall. She rolled her eyes; to anyone that didn’t know her occupation, she would come off as a serial killer. Her entire wall was covered in photos of faces of various people, people she knew, famous people, political figures, and random people caught on servelance photos. She had circled things in the photos, indicated their poster, facial expressions, and in each photo, determined if there was deception.

She cleared her throat. “You needed to speak with me, Agent Brown?” she asked, sitting on the sofa directly across from him.

Tearing his eyes away from the wall she couldn’t help but notice the slight fear in his eyes. “Yes, I’m here because the Bureau is in need of your skills.” he said, and her face lit up, which she quickly concealed. “We lost a great asset when your father was killed four years ago, and we’ve been watching you closely. You’re just as good as him, and we need your help on an especially puzzling case.”

“I’m listening,”

“Ever since Nine-Eleven there have been so many bomb threats and attempts we can’t keep up with them. But this particular case is different. We have the culprit, but don’t know where the bomb is. At this point time is of the essence. It’s been twenty-four hours since we apprehended him, and we have been running in circles. We need you to figure out where the bomb is before it’s too late.”