A Taste of Another Story in the Works

Emily Sinclair was just getting up from the couch. It was getting late and she needed to get home, though it was only a house away.

“Thanks for having me over,” she said to her best friend, Amanda White, who was still on the couch. “The movie was great!”

“I told you you’d like it,” her friend smiled, remote in hand shutting off the DVD player.

As soon as the machine was off the TV channel popped on. It was so late that the 11 o’clock news was playing.

“It has been almost four weeks since the disappearance of Candace Langston, the 30 year old mother of two. Her car found abandoned in the parking lot of the market she regularly shopped at. There are still no leads, but it’s suspected that this ties in to the other disappearance of Morgan Leigh the month before that . . .”

“That’s just awful,” Amanda said.

“It’s sad to say but the women are probably dead,” Emily said.

“That’s horrible,” she replied. “But probably true.”

“Makes you want to walk around with a gun,” Emily replied.

“I don’t know if I could shoot someone.”

“If my life were in danger, I don’t think I’d have any trouble pulling the trigger.”

“You were always more of the defensive type,” Amanda replied with a smile.

Emily returned the smile. “Want to have dinner tomorrow night? I’ll make burritos,” she said.

Amanda groaned. “Oh man . . . my favorite! But I can’t. I’m going out to dinner with Mark.”

Emily shrugged. “Okay, next time. Just let me know when you’re not seeing Mark, or invite him! I don’t know my best friend’s boyfriend all that well.”

“That sounds like a plan!” she said. “I’ll see if he likes burritos.”

“Oh, he’ll like mine! Everyone likes mine!”

“You’re right!” she said. “I’ll call him tomorrow and let you know.”

“Great!” Emily replied. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Night!”

“Good night, Emmy.”

Emily headed to the door. She yawned. It was definitely time to get ready for bed.

He watched as she exited the house; her wavy, chestnut colored hair hanging around her shoulders, moving gently in the slight breeze. Her body was ripe. Perfect. Her curves were a woman’s curves. Her features were soft and strong at the same time. He could almost feel her struggle against him already. See her body spasm against the pulse of energy he would put her against. He could feel her body and see her blood . . . especially the blood. He would have her and no one could stop him. She would become one of his lovers.