IMPERFECT PASSION

By Melinda F. Stanley

Chapter One

The mission was clear. The stakes high.

She turned the rickety Lancer down KY551 heading south out of Casey Creek . Main Street was dead and so was the radio.

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump . The steady cadence of broken shocks and busted springs made their own music as the silver piece of shit ka-thumped every twenty feet, hitting section upon section of patched concrete.

Rose's knuckles pulsed white with each ka-thump as the Lancer rolled out of town beneath a string of low pressure sodium streetlights set fifty feet apart. One-hundred-eighty watt bulbs dropped beams of monochromatic yellow light upon the Lancer, degrading its silvery metallic color and making it appear red; turning it into a ka-thumping, flashing stoplight every fifty feet.

Inside the flashing stoplight she carried loaded weapons. Some were new and some were as old as the beginning of time. Two were all-time favorites...the element of surprise and the power of persuasion.

It was after midnight when she turned into a long, curvy driveway and rattled to a stop at the foot of the front walk. The dome light flicked on for a quick weapon's check.

Thigh-high leather boots...check. Tight leopard mini-skirt and matching halter-top...check. Bouncy curls, ruby-red lips, and daring cleavage...check, check, and check.

Armed to the teeth, she stepped from the Lancer and let her boots do the walking. Shoulders squared, chin down, and eyes straight ahead, she advanced on her unsuspecting prey with determination born of desperation. Her long legs made short work of the solid-rock, concrete walkway leading up to the impressive L-shaped ranch house. She would not—-could not--fail.

Get in. Get out. Get paid. Get a new life. She licked her lips, fluffed her flaming curls, and raised her hand to knock.

The door flew inward. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet a lady?" she asked, darting across the threshold and into the expansive, grey slate foyer, quick as a cat.

"Rose, didn't you get my email?"

"Of course I did, but I've come to change your mind," she said, whipping her hips to-and-fro as she strolled into the living room and perched herself on the edge of his overstuffed couch. Her leather boots creaked as she crossed her legs and leaned forward to set a tiny picnic basket on the coffee table, next to a half-eaten meal of cheese and crackers.

"I'm not going to change my mind. I've told you before, I've met someone," he said, eyeing the basket. "Now, it's late and I was right in the middle of something. You need to go."

She lifted the basket's lid and removed two wine glasses. "There's no need to be rude. I just want to know what happened. Like, when did you meet someone from Rising Sun? Isn't that way up north?”

“Rose--“

“Can't we talk about it?"

"No."

"Can't I at least toast to your newfound happiness?" she asked, pulling a corkscrew and a bottle of Pinot Noir from the basket.

"There's nothing to toast to."

“Seriously...I must talk with you."

In the far corner of the room, a cell phone rattled its protest beneath a mound of papers strewn across a computer desk.

He gave her a ‘don't move' look, set down the glass of iced tea he'd been drinking, and crossed the room. "Hello? Hi, Dad," he said, turning away from her. "Hey, can I call you back? This isn't a good time," he said in a low voice.

Rose pulled a candlestick from the basket, lit it, and set it on the coffee table. She sniffed--then smiled--when she realized it was not the scentless, red candle she smelled. It was success.

"Yes, Dad, I know, but can't we talk about it later? Someone's here. Yeah. Bye," he said, snapping his cell shut and setting it back on his desk. "I'll see you out--" he said, turning around and coming to a dead stop. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You like candles?” she purred. “Come on. Let's have a glass of wine."

"Listen, I'll make this simple for you,” he said, striding toward her. “Either I walk you out or carry you out. Either way, you're out of here. Now what's it going to be?"

She narrowed her eyes and uncrossed her legs. “Fine, it's your loss,” she said, rising from the couch. “Where's the bathroom? I gotta go."

“Can't you wait?”

“No.”

He hesitated. “Go through that door and to your left," he said, nodding to the far end of the room as he picked up his glass.

She stormed past him, past his desk, and out the room, returning five, painfully-long minutes later. "You can walk me out," she said, scrutinizing his behavior as she packed everything except the burning candle. "And for the record, you're a fool," she said, handing him the basket.

Without a word, he took it and turned to lead her from the room. One step later his foot was fighting a throw-rug, which did indeed throw him into the nearby coffee table. With a cat-ate-the-canary smile, she latched onto his basket-laden arm and pulled him vertical. Holding tight, she staggered under his weight as she helped him out the front door and down the front walk.

"You can just set that on the back seat," she said, opening her rear car door.

Unsteady on his feet, he tilted to the left, then to the right, before dropping the basket on the edge of the backseat amid the sound of tinkling wine glasses.

Now ! She pitched forward, ramming her hands into the center of his back and shoving with all her might. She watched him fall face first on the backseat and stay that way. She folded his legs upwards, slammed the door, and jumped behind the wheel. Pulling his cell from her boot top, she checked the time.

1:00 a.m. Mission accomplished.

Rich, throaty laughter rumbled out the car window as she flew down his driveway and hung a hard right when she hit the blacktop...her adrenaline pumping hard as she headed north. It had been so easy, this first step in purchasing a one-way ticket out of the hellhole her life had became.

In an instant, blinding light exploded from her rearview mirror. Two headlights, beams on high, approached fast, illuminating the stop sign she'd just blown through. She gripped the wheel and stomped the pedal to the floor. She would show him.

Red and blue lights lit up the sky, flashing above the accusing headlights. "Son-of-a-bitch," she said, slowing up and looking back. Hoping the flashing lights would go around. Hoping they were going after someone else.

It didn't happen. The cop car hugged her bumper and wasn't going anywhere. She hit the brakes, pulled to the side of the road, and promptly shit a brick when the man folded in her backseat moaned.

1:03 a.m. The mission was unclear. The stakes doubled.