Forty Acres: A Thriller Read Online Free
Author: Dwayne Alexander Smith
pulled away from the curb. “I still think they were following us.”
“I know. That’s the sad part. I keep telling you to cut back on that stuff.”
If Glen had been watching the road instead of glaring at his wife, he might have spotted the black van parked just around the nearest corner. Idling in the shadows. Headlights off. Its occupants watching as the Grand Cherokee zoomed by.
CHAPTER 7
A s Martin wheeled his Volvo into his leaf-strewn driveway, he saw with new eyes the handsome two-story brick house that he and Anna called home. Two years ago, when they had closed on the Forest Hills property, they were thrilled as could be. For both, it was their first experience purchasing a property. The price matched their budget, the square footage exceeded their expectations, and although the neighborhood was predominantly Caucasian, there were enough nonwhite households in the area to make Anna and Martin feel comfortable. Most of all, though, the little brick house symbolized that Martin’s career was finally taking off and held the promise that someday soon they’d be able to start a family. But now, with Martin looking at undreamed-of success, he realized that in a few months he’d be able to afford three or four houses just like it and could live in almost any neighborhood he wanted.
* * *
Martin headed straight for the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. Anna frowned. “Why didn’t you eat something at the party?”
“I did,” Martin said. “I’m still hungry.”
Anna shook her head as Martin pulled the makings for a sandwich out of the fridge.
“I can’t wait to see what’s on the menu at Damon’s house,” Martin said as he put the finishing touches on his sandwich.
Anna frowned again. “I feel kinda guilty about Glen and Lisa. Don’t you?”
Martin tugged Anna into his arms. “Damon’s party is nothing,” Martin assured her. “Lots of exciting things are going to happen for us now. For Glen and Lisa too. Trust me.”
Anna purred, “Would one of those exciting things need to be potty-trained?”
Martin smiled. “Besides being beautiful and smart, are you a mind reader too?”
“Absolutely. You didn’t know?”
“Okay, tell me what I’m thinking.” Then Martin kissed her. Long and deep. “Well?”
Anna wore a wicked smile as she pressed her body closer to his. “I don’t need psychic powers to tell what you’re thinking. I can feel it.”
Martin grabbed Anna by the hand and pulled her up the stairs toward the bedroom.
CHAPTER 8
W hoa! Check that out!” Martin pointed to a sleek black helicopter perched on a stretch of rolling lawn as he drove through the gates of Damon Darrell’s Bedford, New York, estate. Other residents of the affluent hamlet, like Donald Trump and Ralph Lauren, might not be impressed by such a sight, but Martin gaped like a kid at the Macy’s parade.
After passing the aircraft, Martin wheeled his Volvo around a broad circular driveway lined with luxury automobiles.
“That one cost almost as much as the helicopter,” Martin said, pointing to a midnight-blue Bugatti Veyron.
“That’s wonderful,” Anna murmured without looking up from her dress. She was way too nervous to give a damn about rich boys’ toys. She and Martin had decided to crack the piggybank and splurge on new outfits for the dinner party. Martin bought himself an Armani tuxedo, which he looked fantastic in, and Anna found the perfect Chanel evening gown. The simple black dress was the most expensive piece of clothing that Anna had ever owned. But now, as they wound closer and closer to Darrell’s magnificent home, Anna had the sinking feeling that her little Chanel just wasn’t enough.
Martin noticed Anna’s anxious expression. “Don’t worry, baby. You look fantastic.”
“You’re my husband, you’re supposed to say that.”
“You’re right. Actually, you look terrible.”
“Not funny.”
Martin chuckled as he pulled to a stop in
“I know. That’s the sad part. I keep telling you to cut back on that stuff.”
If Glen had been watching the road instead of glaring at his wife, he might have spotted the black van parked just around the nearest corner. Idling in the shadows. Headlights off. Its occupants watching as the Grand Cherokee zoomed by.
CHAPTER 7
A s Martin wheeled his Volvo into his leaf-strewn driveway, he saw with new eyes the handsome two-story brick house that he and Anna called home. Two years ago, when they had closed on the Forest Hills property, they were thrilled as could be. For both, it was their first experience purchasing a property. The price matched their budget, the square footage exceeded their expectations, and although the neighborhood was predominantly Caucasian, there were enough nonwhite households in the area to make Anna and Martin feel comfortable. Most of all, though, the little brick house symbolized that Martin’s career was finally taking off and held the promise that someday soon they’d be able to start a family. But now, with Martin looking at undreamed-of success, he realized that in a few months he’d be able to afford three or four houses just like it and could live in almost any neighborhood he wanted.
* * *
Martin headed straight for the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. Anna frowned. “Why didn’t you eat something at the party?”
“I did,” Martin said. “I’m still hungry.”
Anna shook her head as Martin pulled the makings for a sandwich out of the fridge.
“I can’t wait to see what’s on the menu at Damon’s house,” Martin said as he put the finishing touches on his sandwich.
Anna frowned again. “I feel kinda guilty about Glen and Lisa. Don’t you?”
Martin tugged Anna into his arms. “Damon’s party is nothing,” Martin assured her. “Lots of exciting things are going to happen for us now. For Glen and Lisa too. Trust me.”
Anna purred, “Would one of those exciting things need to be potty-trained?”
Martin smiled. “Besides being beautiful and smart, are you a mind reader too?”
“Absolutely. You didn’t know?”
“Okay, tell me what I’m thinking.” Then Martin kissed her. Long and deep. “Well?”
Anna wore a wicked smile as she pressed her body closer to his. “I don’t need psychic powers to tell what you’re thinking. I can feel it.”
Martin grabbed Anna by the hand and pulled her up the stairs toward the bedroom.
CHAPTER 8
W hoa! Check that out!” Martin pointed to a sleek black helicopter perched on a stretch of rolling lawn as he drove through the gates of Damon Darrell’s Bedford, New York, estate. Other residents of the affluent hamlet, like Donald Trump and Ralph Lauren, might not be impressed by such a sight, but Martin gaped like a kid at the Macy’s parade.
After passing the aircraft, Martin wheeled his Volvo around a broad circular driveway lined with luxury automobiles.
“That one cost almost as much as the helicopter,” Martin said, pointing to a midnight-blue Bugatti Veyron.
“That’s wonderful,” Anna murmured without looking up from her dress. She was way too nervous to give a damn about rich boys’ toys. She and Martin had decided to crack the piggybank and splurge on new outfits for the dinner party. Martin bought himself an Armani tuxedo, which he looked fantastic in, and Anna found the perfect Chanel evening gown. The simple black dress was the most expensive piece of clothing that Anna had ever owned. But now, as they wound closer and closer to Darrell’s magnificent home, Anna had the sinking feeling that her little Chanel just wasn’t enough.
Martin noticed Anna’s anxious expression. “Don’t worry, baby. You look fantastic.”
“You’re my husband, you’re supposed to say that.”
“You’re right. Actually, you look terrible.”
“Not funny.”
Martin chuckled as he pulled to a stop in
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