Confessions Of An Old Lady Read Free Page B

sick from liver disease and died within a year. My Papa was so grief-stricken and lost without her, he died less than two years later.
    I want a love like that , I thought as I rounded the corner back to my apartment. Why can’t I find someone to love me like Papa loved Nana? He doesn’t even have to be perfect…so long as he thinks I am.
    I opened the door to my empty apartment and threw my keys on the counter as always. Everything in my life was so routine. Go to work, catch bad guys, eat lunch by myself at my desk, catch more bad guys, walk home, throw keys on counter, pick up Cleo, pet Cleo, order Chinese, eat by myself while watching The Bachelor , go to sleep, wake up, repeat.
    Speaking of The Bachelor , I still hadn’t watched Monday’s episode, so I curled up with Cleo on my brown suede couch and selected the show from my DVR playlist. It was the Women Tell All episode, which was entertaining as always. The women were all yelling, accusing each other of not being there “for the right reasons.” A few took turns crying on the couch next to Chris Harrison, talking about how “in love” they were with the current Bachelor. Other girls on the dais rolled their eyes. I know, I know, it’s not the most intellectual of shows, but I think and analyze all day at work, so when I come home, I like to unplug my brain and watch some dumbed-down smut just so I don’t have to think for a couple of hours.
    When it was finally over, I turned off the television and picked up a book from my latest favorite author, Greg Iles. His most recent release was Book Four in his Southern Gothic thriller series about a lawyer-turned-novelist-turned-investigator. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer, I turned off the lamp, padded down the hallway with Cleo following closely behind, and crawled into my big, empty, four-poster, king-size bed.
     
    ***
     
    I woke up the next morning, went to work, went through my daily routine, came home, jogged, and then went through my nightly routine again—this time it was The Real Housewives of Atlanta —and went to bed by myself again.
    Life went on like this for several days. I kept asking the Chief when I would begin my training, but he just shrugged and shooed me out of his office.
    I couldn’t wait to start my new life. I knew it wasn’t going to be real and it would be a dangerous job to boot, but I was so tired of my hum-drum life, I welcomed any change fate would bring my way. I was anxious to be somebody else and this whole “biker chick” thing sounded strangely appealing. True, it was the complete opposite of my life at the time, but that was the whole point, right? And besides, I just had to get out of my boring routine. Going home to Kentucky―even if I couldn’t visit my family, even if I would be someone completely different―was just what I needed.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
     
    Finally, a week later, I was sitting at my desk, typing up a report, when two big, burly, muscle-bound men came strolling into headquarters. My desk was in an open area, since my lowly rank at the DEA did not warrant my own office, so I was able to see them as soon as they entered through the front doors.
    I watched as they rounded the corner and headed right toward me. “Are you Agent Rockford?” asked one of the big men.
    “Yes. I am Agent Rockford. And you are…”
    “Agent Beauford, and this here’s Agent Renley. We’re here to train you for Operation Black Betty.” Every time I heard the name of this operation, the tune to Ram Jam’s “Black Betty” played in my mind.
    I stood up and extended my hand. “Nice to meet you both.”
    They both shook my hand with very tight grips. The pair of them stood at least six feet tall and I ventured to guess they both were well over two hundred pounds of pure muscle. They both wore goatees and bandanas on their heads. In fact, they looked like a pair of biker twins, which would have been almost comical, had they