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Unlovable
Book One in the Port Fare Series
Sherry Gammon
Copyright 2011 Sherry Gammon for Wordpaintings Unlimited
WWW.WordpaintingsUnlimited.blogspot.com
Smashwords Edition
Thank you for downloading and purchasing this ebook. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and
may Not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non- commercial purposes. If you
enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy…I mean seriously, it is
only 99 cents;}..at Smashwords.com. Thanks for your support!
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
10:
978-1-257-37986-6
ISBN-13:
978-1-257-37986-6
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to:
My beta readers; for all your help and wonderful suggestions.
My family; you make my Life a beautiful place to be.
And most importantly; to my Father in Heaven.
Cover Design
:
My beautiful cover was designed by Digital Artist Paul Beeley. He does so much more
than design great covers!! Check out his web pages and see the magic!
Webpage:
http://create-imaginations.com/
And his Flickr page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/paul-beeley/
Preface
Before I could reach his lifeless form, Alan grabbed my face and lifted me onto my tiptoes; my lungs
battered begged for air. Dragging his slimy mouth along my neck he muttered, “I’ve waited so long to
have you, I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to control myself as long as I’d hoped.”
He then stopped and pinched his eyes shut before dropping me back to the ground. “No, Alan, you can
wait a bit longer for your revenge,” he counseled himself while stroking my hair. “But maybe a little taste
wouldn’t hurt.” He jerked my face to his, dropping his foul lips to mine.
Something inside me snapped. If I was going to die, I was going to go out fighting, so fight I did. I
raked my fingers over his face, digging up flesh, and while forcing my thumbs into his eyes, I brought my
leg up between his, hard, crushing his groin.
He stumbled and fell on top of me, pinning my battered body to the ground. His weight added
unwanted pressure to my already tender ribs, and I screamed out.
However, Alan’s screams overshadowed mine; he was in serious pain. I began scratching, biting, and
punching every inch of him I could make purchase with, holding nothing back. Still reeling from my well-
placed knee, he spewed out a list of profanities a mile long as I broke free and forced my broken body
across the kitchen floor toward the gun. I was almost to the drawer, when, from his prostate position, he
hooked my foot, dragging me back several feet.
I looked back at his sweaty face, now scarred and bleeding thanks to my fingernails as he leered at
me. “You. Will. Pay. For. That.” Reaching into a pocket by his left knee…
1
SETH
“
Absolutely pathetic!” You’d think I really was an awkward high school senior instead of a
top of my
class,
MET agent. Yet, here I sat
at my ridiculously oversized desk, spinning a cheap Bic pen in tight
little circles, lamenting my lack of courage.
“
Get a grip, Seth, and talk to her already!” I shoved the pen back into the desk drawer and slammed it
shut. Only my self-imposed chastisement didn’t help. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get up the nerve to ask
Maggie Brown out on a date to save my life.
I crossed over to the window, frowning down at my scarred cowboy boots clapping against the
linoleum floor. Not exactly my first choice in footwear, but they did provide me with a convenient place
to hide my sidearm. It’s not as if I could meander around the high school with a gun strapped to my chest.
Okay, focus. Maybe I should try making small talk with her; that’s assuming I don’t choke to death on
my tongue first.
While considering a few other lame scenarios, my eyes wandered over my dreary surroundings. It was
your vintage government-issued office. Aside from the obese desk that lay sprawled across the center of
the room, cold and lifeless, a rusted gray filing cabinet sat stuffed in the corner, with a gray pleather chair
leaning cock-eyed against it. A seriously out-of-date laptop, which was, believe it or not, gray, hummed
loudly in the top right corner of the desk. The only bright spot of color in the room was the half-empty
blue and red Diet Pepsi can parked in the center of my desk.
Fortunately, I seldom had to be in my office. I worked throughout Upstate New York with the Mobile
Enforcement Team, or MET. Being a specialized unit of the DEA, our job is to work specifically with
local authorities in helping to dismantle drug trafficking in urban areas. For the past five months, I’ve
been working undercover at Port Fare High pretending to be a student. Heroin use was on the rise in Port
Fare, with three reported deaths from overdose last summer alone. The dealers were making it stronger,
therefore, more addictive, and cheaper.
My assignment was to
buddy up
to the popular kids, figure out who was using, and from whom they
were buying the stuff. That meant I had to spend most of my days with the school’s cheer captain and her
groupies. Thanks to my wealth, she and her clique readily accepted me into their circle. She was the
quintessential social climber and one shallow girl. I learned right off she wasn’t using heroin, but I wasn’t
too sure about some of her friends.
There were three others working undercover at the school besides myself. One agent worked with the
different sports teams, another covered the known drug users at the school, and the last was a
floater
. His
job was to blend quietly into the background.
I hated deceiving the students, but the dealers had to be stopped, too many lives were being wasted.
I
appeased my guilty conscience by telling myself we weren’t after the kids who were using the stuff, we
wanted their supplier.
The case actually began last winter. I was on an assignment near Syracuse with my team captain,
Booker Gatto. We were tracking a particularly unscrupulous drug dealer, trying to learn who his supplier
was. The scum dealer’s MO was to hang out around the local elementary schools. He would lace candy
and other goodies with drugs before offering it to them in hopes of getting them addicted. Nine children
lost their lives before he was killed in a shootout at a local pool hall. We lost one agent that day. He left a
wife and two small children behind.
The dead dealer’s fingerprints and dental records turned up a big fat zero. His identity went to the
grave with him, and we buried him simply as John Doe. Booker felt the situation was suspicious and had
the case file sealed to the public to protect the team from retaliation.
We never learned who his supplier was, but we did stop the flow of heroin into the area, temporarily
anyway. It seems there’s always another piece of trash waiting in the wings to fill the void.
Word on the street was that Rochester was the new hot spot for our elusive supplier, more
specifically, the community of Port Fare. My town. Since volunteering for the assignment at the high
school, I’d grown to know these kids. Most were good kids, some were a little lost, but overall they were
a good group. I made it my personal mission to catch the low-life if it was the last thing I did.
My thoughts of the high school brought me back around to my other problem. Maggie. She didn’t fit
into my assignment at the school, and I seldom, actually
never
got up the nerve to talk to her. The few
times I’d run into her in the hallway, my tongue had swollen to the size of a small whale, essentially
blocking off the oxygen supply to my brain.
Before I could tear myself up again, my office door flew open. In sauntered my team leader and best
friend, Booker. No, he was more than a friend, he was like a brother to me.
I laughed at him in his black, full dress uniform, including the standard issue Glock pistol tucked into a
leather holster at his waist. I hated our wool uniforms, too itchy. Luckily for me, jeans and tee shirts were
the required uniform of my current assignment, along with the boots, of course.
“
What’s up, Book?” I went back to my desk and sat down, my pleather chair squawking out in protest.
“
We got a new lead on the heroin ring. It’s the most promising one yet.” Booker shoved the door
closed roughly behind him causing the glass to rattle in its frame. Flipping open a thin manila folder he
took three photos out, tossing the top one onto my desk.
“
This is Felix Hoffman,” Booker said, tapping the photo of a seedy-looking man with stringy red hair
and a pockmarked face. “He’s a small-time thug with a record a mile long, mostly for dealing marijuana,
but it seems he has new aspirations. He was seen in Applegate Park talking to a couple of new guys last
week.”
“
I’m guessing we don’t know who these
new guys
are?” The man in the photo had
creep
written all
over him. Definitely not someone I’d want to run into in a dark alley, not without my Glock, anyway.
“
Nope. However, word on the street is they have a powerful contact.” He dropped down onto the
corner of my gray desk and continued.
“
Do you remember that stabbing last week in Applegate Park?” I nodded. “Cole’s the doctor assigned
to her case. He called me this morning when she came out of her coma, and I went over to interview her.”
He set the file down and pulled out a small blue notepad from his breast pocket, flipping over a few
pages. “Her name is Michelle Stringer, 18 years of age. She went into the park looking to score some
grass, and came across our new friends instead. They intro’d themselves to her simply as Bill and Alan
and tried to convince her to buy some heroin from them. She said she wasn’t interested, but this guy Alan
was insistent that she try it. He said he only offered the good stuff, and she wouldn’t regret it.
“
He began bullying her around.” Booker’s eyes darkened as he spoke. He held zero tolerance for men
who abused women. Understandable on all accounts, but especially after what he’d been through. “But it
seems our Ms. Stringer is a second degree black belt,” Booker said. “She got a few good kicks in until
this Alan character drew out a pearl-handled knife from his pants. He proceeded to shove her into their
car.”
“
What kind of car?” I sat up and reached for the pen I’d been spinning earlier, along with a slip of
yellow paper from my desk drawer.
“
Beige,” Booker said, rolling his eyes.
“
That narrows it down.” I sat back, tossing the pen onto my desk.
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