CHAPTER ONE

target one, the vixen is in a role.

I could hear the faint pounding of his heart … he is scared stiff. It is as if he had woken up from a nightmare. I had to smirk at that one. It was like those horror movies where the victim is backing away until he is back flat against the wall, shaking ceaselessly as I, the supposed murderer, stepped closer with a murder weapon, except I didn’t have any on hand. His past had come to haunt him and he knew this day would come despite the twenty-four year delay he didn’t make good use of his time to prepare for it. Erik Torres, a round man in his fifties, one amongst those involved in the secret closed case of the McCormick’s, and Mayor of Cello Cove for nearly 24 years, set his clean reputation aside for his wellbeing even if it meant getting his hands dirty for his ultimate greedy goal. He wouldn’t be where he is today if it weren’t for the bad deed he had done twenty-four years prior. Now it had come to this, besides me, he knows that his due date is coming near.

Torres, as I would address anyone of those who I do not respect no matter how old they were through last names, was still shaking ceaselessly. “Stay back… I warn you!” he said his voice unsteady �" obviously confused and vastly scared as he held up a piece of broken glass in front of him (like that would keep me away). I halted a few feet tossing a packet in front of him as I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at the sick b*****d. He skimmed through the neatly stapled packet and met my graze.

 “24 years ago, you are amongst the five who had disposed and was set on trial for the McCormick’s case,” I paused watching Torres who had nodded, he knew that there was no need to hide the truth and it was enough to tell me that he was guilty as charged. “Because you are highly influential in this government, you and whoever was involved in the incident had gotten away so easily.”

Once more, he nodded, looking up and matching the same ugly glare I had given him, “Who are you? How did you get your hands on this?”

“I’m your worst nightmare so there is no need for introductions, how do I know, let’s just say, you have your ways in getting things, and I got mine.” (I just love using sarcasm and getting straight to the point with these people) He looked annoyingly aggravated, but just the smallest movement from me had signal him into a guarded-still-shaking position. I had the upper hand of course, so he should be scared.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Justice for the government… Maybe something else,” I half-joked, I don’t like sharing much of my intentions. I glanced from my watch to him, “you know Torres you may not know it, but there are lots of people who just hate your fat a*s… and I’m one of them.”

Flashing the pocketknife (which was not even sharp), I had from my back pocket made his eyes widened like two balloons inflating and ready to explode. Torres jaw dropped as he went on his knees pleading for mercy. He breathed heavily, clutching his chest as I stepped closer. He leaned back against the wall, still clutching his chest. His mouth opens, but no words came out. His eyes flickered, and he had dropped dead, head first as it hit the wooden-style-linoleum below him.

It’s hard to tell what the cause of his death was. I heard he had heart problems and he could have suffered a heart attack just now, on the other hand, the poison I had placed on his drink (which I doubt he had downed since he dropped it the moment he saw me) might have played its role. Smirking, I had kicked his side position so that he was back flat against the floor, wrapping my lilac trademark ribbon on his left arm.

Twenty-four years ago, a man by the name Logan McCormick ran for the position as governor of Cello Cove. He was the youngest and brightest politician ever to take on the Reynolds’s empire and gained most of his supporters trust by promising democracy, equality and change for the better of the future generations. He had left Cello Cove for a huge business meeting off the coast on March and shortly after on May 12 1991, his wife had given birth to his first and only daughter. On September 27, three months prior to the elections he had boarded Cello Cove’s V.I.P cruiser to return to his beloved homeland alongside with him was the most influential oligarchy of politician’s and candidates for the years political assembly composing of five, amongst them, the opposing contender the former governor himself, Scott Reynolds. Before nightfall, Logan McCormick alongside his wife is founded shot dead after struggling for their life. The mastermind’s behind the crucial death had escaped and immediately sank the ship to dispose of the evidence. These oligarchs had returned safely in Cello Cove and the only contender left for the position had immediately gain control. The sunken ship wasn’t discovered until ten years later, the remaining corpse of the victims almost unidentified due to the fact that it had been soaked for decades but immediately recognized by the worried relatives as the two bodies of the McCormick’s. The case of the McCormick’s had been opened sending Reynolds and the involved politician’s on trial, however, the case evidence (bullet’s used) of the McCormick’s was hidden at top secret, and because there was no evidence, the case was trashed.

My name is Isabelle White I am a prosecutor, and amongst those who seek justice, closely studying the closed case of the McCormick’s. I believe that this was intentional and I would stop at nothing until they gain the rightful justice they deserve.  As a young girl I dreamed of changing this world, blinded by hate and only seeking justice, I vowed to become a prosecutor. I existed to serve justice by bring justice to those who have been wronged and take down the corrupt leaders who are leading us today. Despite my profession, no one knows many things about me especially what I do when nightfall strikes.

“The vixen strikes again!” I hear Bobby, a fellow colleague in the Interrogation department from across the room boast once more of the secret agent. (So they like the name after all) Beside him was Hannah, a brunet in a professional suit from the intelligence department sipping a brewing cup of coffee as she leaned at the counter beside him, “I thought she strikes on the guilty, could Mayor Torres really be a corrupt government official?”

Before I could hear any more of what Bobby has to say, the scent of a freshly brewing cup of coffee diverted my attention from them towards my fellow prosecutor Nathan Hayes sharply dress as always, walking towards me. “Nice job Prosecutor White,” I grinned, he was not only handsome with that golden clean cut and professional suit of his but his gentlemanly ways as well leaning against my desk as he handed me a mug of coffee. I thanked him taking a sip as he did. He savored the creamy brewing drink, biting his lip as he smiled and grazed at me with his soft cerulean eyes. “The notorious Prosecutor once again had managed to bust a corrupt government official.”

He wasn’t talking about Torres of course, it just so happens that earlier that day, he was out and so he couldn’t congratulate me on the case of Eliana Garner�"An ex-prosecutor who had handled the McCormick’s case, and surprisingly one amongst the corrupt government official’s panel ruling our government.

Rumor has it, that a year ago, she had stolen the fifty million dollars raised by taxpayers supposed to be used for government’s healthcare, this infuriated the public causing chaos after her case was dismissed and not proven guilty. I had once more opened the case, and proved that she in fact had stolen the missing funds based on property she had owned and pressed charges for corruption (stealing millions of dollars), disruption of peace (when she stormed in my office) and negligence of her duties as part of the panel (she took to many vacations during her time). 

I shrugged, that wasn’t much of new news to me. It’s my job to serve justice in this town and that was only the first step. “This is only little compared to what’s behind the box.” I repented shuffling the papers on hand as I looked up to meet his graze. He nodded easily identifying the top-secret files I had in front of me.

“Still studying the McCormick’s case I see.” I nodded, standing up on both feet as I took a quick sip on the mug and immediately scooped a hand full of the documents patting him on the shoulder. “About the dinner, can we reschedule?”  He nodded, “Of course, but don’t overwork yourself.” We exchange the same knowing smiles and immediately parted ways. Glancing back, I spotted him standing on his desk winking before I officially disappeared from his sight.

Nathan Hayes was always thinking about my safety. We have been good friends since law school, working closely together and acknowledging our small feelings by meeting up from time to time. I just hope someday, I wouldn’t have to betray him.

Tossing my bag and documents on the vacant seat of my car, I stopped by to the home of the aged to visit the woman who had inspired my dream, the woman who I owe my life to and the woman who had been my mother even at this very day �" Josephine Davidson.

My face was not easy to forget since I was the usual visitor (and well popular in the television), and so Emily, the sweet receptionist had immediately smiled sweetly and told me where my adoptive mother’s whereabouts where. Exchanging the same warm smile she had given me, I directed myself inside the supposed living room. Inside I found my adoptive mother Josephine Davidson sound asleep on the central sofa, planting a quick kiss on her forehead as I sat on the little space made by his arced body. Josephine slowly opened her eyes, sitting up the moment she had seen me.

“Hello little one,” Josephine said resting her head on my stiff shoulders “Mum, I’m too old for that.” I said glancing at the aged woman who huffed with a pouting expression, although she was too old to make such a face she was the queen of tantrums and doing this never failed to make me smile. “It felt like it was just yesterday when you were in diapers, and here you are busting criminals.”

“It’s my job,” I said clutching the fabric on the sofa, “I have to commit the justice they deserve.” Josephine nodded squeezing my hand, her warm palms reassuring and easing my tensed body, “I know it’s hard for you, but it doesn’t have to get to this.” It was too late for that, we can’t change the past, and I’m sure as hell I can’t let a day pass without getting a step closer to my purpose in life.

We exchanged little stories, enjoying each other’s company before I left. I’d love to have her home, but I couldn’t stand having her stay there alone. I won’t always be there to protect her, and seeing how defensive she is right now, I can’t let her see me like this. I can’t let her see me turn into a monster I already was.

Parking on the driveway, our housedog for nearly ten years, a golden retriever, had immediately slipped out of the doggie door and sat wagging her fluffy tail in front of my car’s door. I smiled, scratching the back of her ear as I ushered towards the baby blue and white cottage.

As soon as I entered, my eyes wandered to the flat screen television across the room (either I had forgotten to turn it off this morning, or the smart-a*s mutt must have toyed with the remote). Marci, apparently that’s her name, had placed a paw on the remote control instantly increasing the volume as the female newscaster (I like to call her the blonde headed blond, because apparently she is annoyingly stupid at her job) reported about the death of a familiar face: Erik Torres. Focusing on the newscast, I had sat on the stylish vanilla-cloudy sofa scratching the back of Marci’s ear as she rested her muzzle on my lap.

“Mayor Erik Torres was found dead inside his condominium as of one a.m. this morning. The fifty-four year old was found dead on the floor with a broken glass on hand beside him are a few documents of the recently closed McCormick case, P.D.’s are currently working on the case and right now are keeping everything they know confidential for the public.” Miss Blonde-suits-her-persona, handed the spotlight to a familiar face, although his name was a little hazy, I knew he was part of a opposing P.D. crew who had dropped by my office from time to time.

The news blabs about theories that his death is intentional (of course it was since I did it) and the person who always makes my blood boil appears on the screen of my television. Scott Reynolds, governor of Cello for a total of 36 years (yes he is that old), had just entered the scene wearing a fake gloomy façade as he stared at the audience behind the screen. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had made enemies during our time Bianca, but I feel dearly sorry for his family.”

 “The Vixen is known for not committing hostility towards the enemies of our beloved town, even dropping them in the front doors of our respectable prison. After hearing about a death of one of our proudest politician’s and practically one of your close friend, could it be that the once looked up on super hero of our town, actually be a threat?” Miss Blonde directs the microphone towards the sickening man who in return nodded.

“From the start I always thought that this so called super hero was a needle on the throat. This so called Vixen is getting out of hand, and should be treated as a threat.”

I snorted as I glared at his obnoxious face (which appeared to look as if puberty didn’t had a good enough on him effect on him) and shut the television off having the nuisance disappear right before my eyes.  

“I am not a threat,” I hissed looking at the retriever next to me, “right Marci?” Marci nodded then howled as she wagged her tail in agreement. Getting up on both feet, I trailed into the kitchen preparing for an evening’s meal of egg sandwich and bacon strips for the lackey mutt beside me.

Author's Note

please ignore the grammar still in the process of writing and editing them :) - hope you like it so far.

feel free to comment, suggestions, and I'll be happy to read them :3