Raven: A political thriller Read Free Page B

Fred to hear.
    “Think she’d take a second look at you?” Fred asked.
    Don handed Fred the stack of mail while he just shook his head. He had
only known his new partner for less than a month, but Fred seemed to know Don
better than Don knew himself. It was scary at times, but Don never let Fred
know how close he came to having him pegged right.
    “And what’s wrong with me?” Don asked, curious what Fred would have to
say, and then quickly added in his own defense, “I haven’t been written up once
this month.
    Fred glanced over at Don and shook his head. “My point exactly.”
    Don looked around and seemed to think for a moment. Then he bent down
and flipped the mat up. “Bingo,” he said. Don looked up at Fred with a smile on
his face as he picked up the key that was hidden there. People never learned
that under the mat was the first place a burglar looked, that and a pot nearby.
    “You are good,” is all
Fred could muster up to say. “It beats breaking down the door.”
    “Who said anything about breaking the door down?”
    Fred laughed. “You had that look in your eye again.”
    Don unlocked the door and then slowly walked through without a
comeback for Fred. He quickly reached in his pocket and put on latex gloves and
then handed Fred a pair.
    Fred followed Don in and set the stack of mail on the table next to
another stack sitting there. He then turned and reached for the light switch.
Don whistled when the light went on.
    He stepped onto the royal-blue carpeting. Don could feel the carpet
give with his weight as he sank in with every step he took. He detected the
faint scent of cinnamon as he entered the room and looked around. It was then
he saw the reed diffusers placed strategically around the room. The pale-cream
couch and chair were beautifully accented with throw pillows that matched the
carpeting. The vases of silk flowers in hues of yellow, blue, and green
accented the pillows on the couch. The brass bird ornaments set around the room
added a touch of class so as not to appear too ornate.
    Don walked into the center of the room and stood in front of the
mantel. His breath stalled in his throat as he stared up at the portrait above
the fireplace. His forehead perspired and for some reason he had goose bumps
running up his arms as the image of the woman stared back at him. The woman’s
hair was jet black and her green eyes stared back at him with all the intensity
of a real breathing person. Chills went down Don’s spine. The olive complexion
was flawless. Don was taken aback at the sight, and for the longest time he
couldn’t take his eyes off the vision.
    “What a waste, if that is Ms. VanBuren,” was all he could muster up to
say.
    Fred walked up behind Don. He, too, was impressed by the image of the
woman staring back at them. He glanced at the signature in the bottom
right-hand corner.
    “Paulo,” Fred said with an impressive grin. “You’re talking big bucks
here. He doesn’t paint just anybody.”
    Don turned to Fred and frowned. “What do you know about art?”
    “Don’t you read the paper?”
    Don shrugged. “Sports section.”
    Fred shook his head. He liked Don, but he really was a narrow-minded, old school cop
who didn’t venture out of his comfort zone much. Fred had always liked the
finer things in life. Even though he was a cop, he went to museums, he liked
the Met on a Saturday night when he used to live in the Big Apple, and he read
the society page of the Washington
Post . Fred finally turned back to Don.
    “You have to be somebody for him to even put you on a waiting list,”
he said and then paused for a moment before continuing. “And that doesn’t even
guarantee you a sitting.”
    Don didn’t even turn to look at Fred, just stared up at the portrait
that had mesmerized him. “Then our girl was somebody,” he said. He finally turned to look at Fred and quickly added, “But
who?”
    “Sure didn’t help her in the end.”
    Don walked over to the pile of