River of No Return : A Jake Trent Novel (9781451698053) by David Riley Bertsch Page A

instincts too.”
    Jake knew this was true. Still, he couldn’t help but think, Yeah, instincts and about fifteen beers.
    â€œDid you call the police?”
    â€œNo help. They think I’m off my rocker. What’s the next step?”
    Jake thought on it. He hated to doubt his friend. If J.P. said Esma was kidnapped, Jake would believe him. “I’ll look into it. Text me her cell number and I’ll see what I can do.”
    â€œThanks, man. I mean, God, thank you!”
    â€œNo problem.”
    â€œJake, one more thing.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWhen can you come home?”
    In the doorway again, Divya stood. All five feet ten of her. Legs alone seemingly longer than that. Bronze-dark skin, fully nude, breasts befitting a woman half her age, her smooth skin glistening from her head down. Handcuffs dangled from her fingers.
    â€œLet’s play criminal investigator,” she interrupted. Not asking.
    â€œSoon, buddy.” Jake hung up the phone.
    Jake tried to stand up and stop her. Before he could, she was at the bed, gently pushing his shoulders, forcing him to lie down, whispering: “Relax, you’re only under arrest.”
    He’d had enough. Enough of this town. Enough of Divya’s constant advances that stemmed from God-knows-what psychological issues.
    Still, something in his mind said Go with it. Give in. What man rejects a model-caliber woman with no clothes on? And she was familiar. It was all too easy.
    Divya pulled his wrists between the hand-turned wooden ­dowels on the headboard and locked them with the cuffs.
    â€œDo you remember the library bathroom during criminal procedure class?”
    Jake could only nod, like a sex-crazed teenager. She started kissing his neck, her nipples bearing the mass of her breasts onto his own chest.
    I’m outta here tomorrow, Jake thought. And pulled against the cuffs, straining to try to kiss her back.

12
    WASHINGTON, DC. OCTOBER 19.
    8:30 A.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME.
    Divya was quietly snoring. More like heavy breathing. Either way, Jake used to find it adorable, sexy somehow. Now it disgusted him. A satisfied snore. A reminder of the mistake he’d made the night before. What the hell was I thinking?
    He got out of bed. Searching the floor for his boxers, he found them camouflaged against the peculiar pattern of the Persian rug. He got on his phone only after leaving the bedroom. Jake wanted to make a quick escape.
    He felt like a caged animal, anxious and irritated. He rolled his neck and paced like a tiger on display while the phone rang. It was a dim, cloudy day. Out the hallway window, the fancy cars and brownstones glared back at him, moody fetishes of misguided ambition. Hungry desire. Wealth. The signatures of arrogance.
    He gave the airline agent his name. Where he was.
    â€œAnd where are you headed, sir?”
    â€œHome. Jackson Hole. As soon as possible.”
    â€œNo problem.” The clatter of a keyboard sharpened by the amplifier of the phone. “Looks like the next available is 12:15 p.m. Dulles.”
    â€œWhat’s the fare?”
    â€œLet me see . . . $935. It’s very last minute.”
    Flights to Jackson were always pricey, but $935 was egregious. “First class?” Dumb question.
    â€œNo, sir.”
    Jake silently weighed his options. “At least it’s not $936.”
    â€œI’m very sorry, sir.”
    â€œNot your fault. Thanks.”
    Jake got in the shower. He wanted to wash off all of last night, along with the city and the convoluted arrangement of facts surrounding the GPSN campaign.
    Yes, he wanted to help derail the plan to inject a microchip into every man, woman, and child that immigrated to this country. It was against everything he believed in.
    What will happen next if Canart’s funding goes through?
    Although a mentor once convinced him that making the “slippery slope” argument was a fool’s errand, he