Red in richmond, p.1
Red in Richmond, page 1
Red in Richmond
Red in Richmond
the Color of Love Series
Fay Smith
Fay Smith
Contents
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3
4
5
6
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About The Author
Copyright © 2023 by Fay Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Printing, 2023
1
Baxter
I heaved the weights up and then down again, the burn in my arms and shoulders a familiar friend. I’d been at it for about twenty minutes, and my shirt was already wet with sweat. Upon being assigned to Richmond, one of the first things I did was find the local gym in the national chain to which I belong. I never neglect my workout routine, no matter where I’m sent or how long I’m there. My body just doesn’t feel right if I miss a workout. Blowing out, I heaved the weights again.
My eyes caught the reflection of a girl on the treadmills, slightly ahead of me and to my right. In the bright lighting of the gym, her hair was a brilliant red, not a bottle color, more of the orange-red of natural redheads. It was very intense, and I wondered if it was natural or dyed; I hoped it was real, although I couldn’t say why. She just had a sweet girl-next-door look about her with pale skin and a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks. She had that “Strawberry Shortcake” sweetness about her that appealed to my sweet tooth.
As I continued to push the weights, I allowed my eyes to travel over her, mainly out of boredom. She was petite; I would have said around five feet two-to-three inches. She was curvy in a way that worked for me, boasting large breasts and full hips that swayed hypnotically as she walked briskly on the treadmill. It was hard to notice more, as she was wearing baggy sweatpants and a grossly oversized t-shirt to work out in. Her hair was pulled carelessly into a messy ponytail that swayed with the cadence of her ass. And while I could see her ample chest moving, she clearly had worn a good sports bra to keep the girls under control. I noticed that she had no makeup on, and I smiled. Although she wasn’t pushing herself, she did come to work out and not to put on a show. I could respect that.
Maybe it was just because I hadn’t had any female attention in a while, or perhaps it was just because I appreciate a body you can sink into, dig your fingers in without worrying you’ll break them, but she was affecting me. She didn’t scream ‘sexy;’ if anything, her appearance screamed, ‘don’t notice me.’ But I could see that underneath all that clothing was a body I’d love to ride. I had to stop watching before I embarrassed myself with a raging boner in the gym.
My arms were starting to give out, and just as I was planning which area I’d work next, another woman strolled down the mat between the machines and headed my way. She didn’t hide the fact that she was looking me up and down, impressed with what she saw, before meeting my eyes and smiling devilishly.
Not my type, I decided instantly.
Which was a shame because she was everything most guys want; she was tall and thin, with ‘the gap’ between her thighs. Her ridiculously loud hot pink leggings, tight t-shirt with a low v-neck, and a full face of makeup told me that she was not here to work out; she was here to get attention. She mounted the treadmill directly in front of me, of course, and as she started it, I saw her in the mirror as she turned to look at the other woman I had just been eyeing. I could see her reflection, and her face was awash with disgust.
Definitely not my type.
She started her workout, jogging with a decided bounce that threatened to unleash her silicone boobs. Unlike the redhead, she put so much effort into her bounce that she lost most of the value in her workout. If she thought I was enjoying her show, she was wrong; I’d take Red over her any day of the week.
As a Behavioral Analyst for the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), I had learned how to read people, and I was usually right. I worked for the Organized Crime Division out of the Boston Office. I had been sent to Richmond, Virginia, to follow a lead on activity involving the Boston-based Giovanni family. I had just arrived that morning, and priority one was getting my workout out of the way.
Just then, I watched from the corner of my eye as Red’s attention went to the cellphone she had been using for music.
“Jenna,” She beamed, breathing heavily as she took the call. She listened before answering, “No… (huff)... I’m at the gym. (huff) Are you ok?”
Her face fell and her eyes darted nervously, meeting mine for a moment before continuing to scan around her.
“Hold on (huff)... let me get somewhere private.” She turned the treadmill off and exited quickly. As she moved past me, I heard her ask, “What’s going on, Jenna?”
I was already moving to another machine, so I followed behind with my towel. I wasn’t intentionally following her; she just happened to be going in the direction of the machine I had decided to use next, as the ab machine was occupied. In the mirror, the silicone bimbo had an angry frown on her face as I moved away, her eyes following me shamelessly.
Red listened intently as she walked before warily answering, “The one on the corner?... yeaaaah… I remember them.” She stopped just outside of the changing rooms, and I went to my machine. I felt a little bad, as I could still hear her conversation, but I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.
Her demeanor changed quickly, her brows drawing down in concern. “Let me guess, that friend thinks if he can get to you, he can get to your boyfriend.”
That got my attention. I tried to continue my workout; it wasn’t my job to police the world and fix everyone’s problems. However, that was precisely the kind of behavior I was trained to deal with. Organized crime used collateral damage all the time to send messages, and no one was safe.
Red breathed out heavily. “Oh, Jenna… I don’t know what I can do... if anything, but I’ll try. I still have a friend in that family. I can try calling him and seeing if he will meet with you. Can I give him your number?”
I kept my eyes straight ahead as I pulled the weights and set them back again. The term “family” was something I used all the time when talking about the mob… was it just a coincidence? It could be just that: a family member she knew was being petty… but my gut told me there was potentially more going on. After all, it was no coincidence that our intel led me to be stationed in Richmond.
But no one dealing with the mob would be stupid enough to give out their actual phone number…
“Okay, then give me that number,” Red said calmly.
A burner phone, I assumed.
She checked something on her phone, nodding, and then told her friend, "Honey, it will be okay. I don't know how, but I promise to do what I can. I have to warn you, though, it may be expensive," she said matter of factly.
The more I heard, the more I was sure I was hearing something I would need to follow up on.
"Okay," Red answered. "Jenna, I want the whole story when this is all over. You may have to come down to Richmond to visit." She was trying to sound cheerful, but a glance told me she was far from it. Her eyes still darted around nervously, and her hands were tightly fisted. Red was scared.
I continued my workout as she turned and returned to the treadmill, but this time she upped the pace to a burning run. As I cranked the weights, I checked in on her every few minutes, and she still ran at breakneck speed. After another twenty minutes and three other machines, I was ready to hit the showers, and I looked over again and saw Red still running hard.
Damn, I didn't think she had it in her.
The silicone bimbo had left mere minutes after I had picked up and moved.
Just in case my gut was right, I pulled out my cell phone, pretending to check something, and snapped several pictures of Red. I could get her contact information from the gym if I needed to. With that, I headed into the locker room to shower and get ready to meet up with my partner.
Twenty minutes later, I walked out of the locker room to see Red still running.
Damn. I love a girl with stamina.
I couldn’t contain my smile. As my pants suddenly became uncomfortable, I had to reign in my thoughts again. Shaking my head at myself, I made a bee-line for the front door, making a mental note to visit the gym later and get her info. I had to admit that there was an excited buzz in my gut at the thought of seeing her again.
Red
Fuck my life.
I had been gone for over fifteen years; I had been able to avoid the family. If it hadn’t been my best friend Jenna, I would have said there was nothing I could do. But it was Jenna! My best girlfriend from high school, the one who had helped me get through the darkest, shittiest family crisis and was like a sister to me. I couldn’t let anything happen to her.
FUCK!
My feet flew beneath me, keeping a brutal pace on the treadmill. I had so much energy to burn and so much anxiety. This was the only way to get it out of my system. This was the only way to keep me safe, by staying in shape and prepared. I blew out a deep breath,
Jenna had somehow gotten into trouble with my mobster family, the family I had run away from at eighteen. I changed my name from Renatta Giovanni to Natalie Brooks and settled in Virginia. Luckily, they had never found me. Other than Victor, none of them even knew how to get in touch with me, and even Victor only had a number to a burner phone. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that if anyone thought he could lead them to me, they would use him. If they ever found out we—
I couldn’t finish that thought. I couldn’t go there. I shook my head and ran harder, my heart pumping at a frantic and painful rate.
I had to concentrate on helping Jenna. Victor was still in the family, although he was pretty low-level with little pull. We talked once or twice a year to stay in touch, but nothing more. He had been my first real love, and there would always be a place in my heart for him, but we could never be more. I moved away to save us both; that was what I told myself.
I decided that when I got home, I would call him and see if he would be willing to get in touch with Jenna and make a deal. I didn’t want to open this can of worms, but I wouldn’t risk my best childhood friend, and I knew what my family could do.
And so I ran harder.
Baxter
“Bad news, Murphy.” Fiske’s voice called out through my rental car speakers.
“Yeah, what’s that?” I asked.
“The hotel we were supposed to be booked into had a major water pipe burst last night; they have no water, so we can’t stay there. I’ve already called the home office, and they are finding us other accommodations. Don’t get your hopes up; I’m sure it won’t be ‘Four Seasons’ quality.”
I chuckled. It was a running joke between my partner and me, as we had been booked in some nasty roach motels over the years. Don’t get me wrong; the Bureau was really good to us… it’s just that some of the smaller or more rural locations didn’t have much by way of hotels. Sometimes you had to take what you could get.
And sometimes you had to put your foot down and sleep in your damn car.
“I’m sending the address to you now,” Fiske said suddenly. “Hmm… doesn’t look too bad. Maybe not hot and cold running roaches.”
I laughed again. “On my way to pick you up now, and we can arrange to keep the rental later once we’re checked in.”
“See you soon,” he replied, and the line went dead.
John Fiske and I had been working together for five years. He was funny, intelligent, and loyal, and I never had to worry about him not having my back. We had been put into pretty shitty situations, and he always came through for me.
We were about the same age and about the same height at a little over six feet, but the similarities ended there. While I had medium brown hair and hazel eyes, Fisk had blond ‘surfer god’ hair and bright blue eyes for which the women dropped their panties. And while I was clearly bulkier in the muscle department, sporting cut abs and bulging biceps, Fisk was leaner and wirier, although still very ripped in his own right. He always looked like a million dollars in a tailored suit or dinner jacket, while mine were always too tight over my arms and chest, making me feel and look constricted. He looked like a Hollywood celebrity, and I looked like his bodyguard.
In the past, we worked hard and played harder; the worse the assignment, the harder we partied. There was a time when Fiske was a pussy magnet; we couldn’t go out anywhere without him collecting a dozen phone numbers, as well as a companion or two for the night. I got plenty of attention, but when he was with me, I was the designated wingman because the girls just couldn’t stay away from him. Neither of us had time for a relationship with the hours we kept and the constant travel, but that never stopped us from having a warm body when we wanted it… sometimes two or three, but that was mostly Fiske.
I guess we were maturing, although I hated to think of that. Ever since we hit thirty, it’s like the party scene lost some of its appeal. I don’t know about Fiske, but I know I haven’t called any of my booty calls for a long time…
Has it been over a year already? Fuck. No wonder I’m ogling women at the gym.
As I pulled up to the airport curb, I spotted Fiske immediately. There was a small gaggle of women tittering and giggling around him, one hanging on his arm, as he charmed them with his megawatt smile and his stories. I knew he saw me, even with his sunglasses on, when he started apologizing to the ladies. Kissing one full on the lips as he took her number right in front of the others, he grabbed his bag and headed for the car.
He threw his bag in the backseat and climbed into the passenger’s seat next to me, flashing his smile as if it would work on me.
“Did I just save you or interrupt you?” I asked with a smirk as I threw the car into gear.
“Neither. I’ll pick up where I left off later.” He shrugged, still smiling.
“With the one you were playing tonsil hockey with?” I inquired, lifting an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” he said noncommittally, “as long as she doesn’t find out I had her friend in the airport already.”
I just chuckled and shook my head.
I take it back. Fiske is not maturing at all.
In under twenty minutes, we pulled up to the Marriott, our new home, for a while. We parked and made our way inside to check-in. The hotel was nice, clean, and right downtown for easy access. The Bureau had handled all the details, so we checked in at the desk and got our keys. I was pleasantly surprised to find we had been booked in a two-bedroom suite. The front desk told us there was some convention in town, and most of their singles had already been taken, so we lucked out. There was even a dining room, so we would have space to spread out and work. The only downside would be having to listen to Fiske fucking all night, as recently, that was a given in any new city we went to. I always traveled with earplugs, in case my room was near his.
We settled in, putting our files in the room safe, and Fiske showered and changed into comfortable clothing. I already knew his plans, as he was wearing his 'come fuck me' cologne and way too much of it.
“Going out?” I smirked.
“Yeah… I’ve got an itch for some strange.” (translation: “I’m going to pick up some anonymous woman and get laid.”)
“You just had some not a half hour ago!” I laughed. “Don’t you have a girlfriend back home?”
“That was just an appetizer.” He brushed me off. “And I have more than one in every city we visit. Don’t tell me you don’t?” He smirked back at me.
“My dance card is full.” I lied, turning toward my bedroom so he couldn’t read my face.
“Alright then, I’m out. You know how to get in touch with me,” he yelled over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “What are you going to be doing?” He stopped at the door and turned to me.
“I just want to follow a lead while it’s still warm. I shouldn’t be too long,” I answered.
“Great, message me when you’re done. You can meet me for drinks.” He smiled back.
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I lied again and headed into my bedroom, closing the door.
Red
I had showered, changed, and then paced in my tiny apartment with my burner phone in my hand. My gut was screaming at me not to make the call. Victor always called me; I never called him. Truth be told, if it were up to me, we would have lost touch long ago; he always reached out to keep tabs on me to ensure I was safe. It was sweet, but it was dangerous.
My thoughts went back to Jenna, and my stomach tightened again.
Rip the bandaid off; just get it over with.
I pressed the send button, and he answered on the first ring.
“Can’t talk now. I’ll call you back,” he said brusquely before disconnecting.
He was clearly in the middle of something, and I knew better than to push the issue. He was probably surrounded by the rest of the guys. At least his voice no longer made me want to melt or caused butterflies in my stomach. Now his voice brought me a nostalgic comfort, with a twinge of sadness.
Growing up a Giovanni meant I was surrounded by thugs all my life. Of course, I didn’t know that when I was little; I just thought we had a tight family. My mother raised me; my dad was always away ‘working.’ I could tell my mom respected my father, but they didn’t have that ‘in love’ look I saw on couples on TV. It wasn’t until I was twelve that I started understanding the family dynamic I lived with. My mom was dad’s wife, but apparently, he had several mistresses on the side. He could be moody and violent, and my mother did her best not to say anything if she was unhappy about her situation.
