Other Fan Fiction ❯ Secrets of the Rich and Powerful ❯ Chapter 2

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The Regional Preternatural Investigation Team, that had taken the time to travel the 45 minutes to my
home, consisted of three people: Anita Blake, and two others who had already been led to the body of
my husband by our gardener. The gardener really wasn't who would have been my first choice to show
off my dead husband, but there was no one else remotely close to my home, other than Landen.

s I descended the staircase, I studied the famed "Executioner". She was short, but not much shorter
than I, and I wasn't considered tall for a woman. Her curly hair was pulled back into a somewhat large
ponytail, most likely due to the humidity the summer night had offered us. It tended to be about ten
percent more humid out here in seclusion from the city than the city itself, so I really couldn't blame
her. She wore a regular crimson red t-shirt, tucked into a pair of black jean pants. She wore a pair of
black Nikes. I wasn't too critical about her wardrobe, after all I would have chosen something similar
before meeting Adam. On the whole, I really liked the sight of her. She made me feel safer from
whatever it was that broke into my home and maimed my husband. Perhaps it was that firearm she
flaunted in a shoulder holster that made me feel that way.

She was looking at the portrait of my husband and me; painted for us by an artist in France on the only
trip to France I had ever taken in my life. It usually was the first thing guests noticed when walking into
the front hall. I was told it was the necklace I wore for that particular occasion. It was a somewhat large,
clear diamond, the size of my fist that hung lightly on a simple, silver chain. Yes, that's right, I said lightly,
as if the diamond didn't weigh much more than a strand of hair. I don't know where my husband bought
it, and I'm not quite sure what he did with it after that painting. I do, however, wish I still had it to show
off to some of the other women I had the misfortune of knowing.

I stepped off the stairs, and Anita Blake looked at me. She blinked the moment she laid eyes on me, as if
she wasn't expecting what she saw. I was used to that reaction. I was only twenty-five, and that painting
looked as if it were taken maybe twenty years ago, when in reality it was only a few months old. I was
aware that any make-up I had on was now smeared due to hasty removal, and my eyes were red from
both fatigue and tears. My usual straight auburn colored hair was a ratted mess. I will be the first to
admit that I was nowhere near a sight for sore eyes. In fact, I was probably the reason the eyes were
sore to begin with.

" nita Blake," Landen said, "this is my employer's wife, Lillian Murray. Mrs. Murray, this is nita Blake,
as you have called upon."

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I thanked Landen, and sent him off to get some coffee. I wanted him gone before I could tell this woman
what was in the dining room, but I knew I had only a short time to tell it.

As soon as I was certain Landen was out of earshot, I led Ms. Blake back towards the front doors. Not to
go outside, but just far enough away from the kitchen so Landen couldn't overhear what I was about to
say. I know she was a little unnerved about the sudden human contact, and I was highly aware of the
gun that hung on her side, but it had to be done. Without an invitation, I blurted out everything.

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