Paradise - Part Four (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant) Read Online Free PDF Page B

article. It was the first mention of her in the newspaper since she had been admitted to the hospital on Nassau. I felt less guilty than after Emma Green’s death. I wondered why. I went to Google on the iPad and searched the woman’s name who had accidently ingested the poison as well. An article came up on the CNN website about her. The headline read, “Woman Dies of Radiation Poisoning.” I read on to find that the matter was under investigation by the FBI. The fact didn’t worry me, but, rather, I was mildly amused. I decided to take a stroll on the beach after my morning coffee. Turning the matter over in my mind on Anse Lazio, I felt satisfied that I had succeeded in my purpose and didn’t really mind the extra casualty involved. In the past weeks my relationship with Stafford had improved greatly. We fucked most nights when he was at the villa and I took on an increased load of personal security work for him, the results of which he seemed quite pleased with. His trust in me and my abilities increased quite a bit though he still didn’t reveal any specifics about his line of business.
    As I collected bottles of baby food at a grocery store in Governor’s Harbour I noticed a funny little man checking me out from the opposite end of the aisle. I began to have a bad feeling about him, almost like a premonition, especially when he got in line right behind me. I glanced at him and further noticed his bizarre appearance. He had shaved between his eyebrows revealing the fact that his was naturally a unibrow, thick and dark like Bert from Sesame Street. He smelled bad and his manner was so grotesque that when he ventured to talk to me I was utterly repulsed.
    “I see that you’re shopping here alone, ma’am,” he mumbled.
    “My husband’s in the car outside waiting for me,” I lied.
    “Impossible. You’re not married,” he sniffed.
    The cashier looked at me sympathetically.
    “This conversation’s over. Good day.”
    I took my bags.
    He bought some cigars and followed me out. I turned to face him. He smiled at me.
    “Do you want me to call the police?” I said.
    “You are free to. But that won’t really be necessary.”
    He flashed me a bit of paper from his wallet. It had a picture on it.
    “Glenn Carter,” he continued as he near me, “Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
    My heart rate jumped. The blood drained from my face.
    “Do you want to see my identification again?” he said, showing it to me.
    It appeared to be real.
    “Cup of coffee, madam?” he asked with a smile.
    “Sure,” I acquiesced. “Mind if I set these groceries in the car?”
    “Nice car,” he said.
    I put the bags in the passenger seat.
    “A gift.”
    “From your illustrious employer no doubt.”
    “Yes.”
    Several possibilities came to mind: he was here about Stafford’s business, he was here about the dead women, one or two of them, or all three. I collected myself and tried to breathe slowly as we sat down in a coffee shop across the street with a view to Tarpum Bay.
    “You may have guessed why I’m here. You may not have. Nonetheless I need to ask you…you see it is imperative…that this meeting and any to follow—there will be others—remain strictly confidential…strictly between us.” His voice was nasally and hoarse from smoking.
    “That’s fine. Mind telling me what it’s about?”
    “It’s regarding your employer, Mr. Mark Stafford.”
    I was deeply relieved to say the least.
    “What’s wrong? Has he done something? I’m sensing this isn’t about tax evasion.”
    He chuckled.
    “No, that would involve IRS agents, not us. What we’re dealing with here is more serious than that. Quite a bit more serious.”
    “I see.”
    “What you may or may not know is that some women who have been linked with him have died recently. We don’t know whether these deaths were in any way caused by him, but the circumstances are rather suspicious. We’ve also been tracking his