The Dragons Orb

DRAGON’S ORB

A novel by

J.T.TWERELL

DRAGON’S ORB

L W Publications, Inc

1133 Broadway

Suite 1404

New York, NY 10010

DRAGON’S ORB

Published by arrangement with James Terry Twerell

Copyright © 2013 LW Publications

All rights reserved

ISBN 1494401959

For more information Visit www.JTTWERELL.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

A Paris night! It’s how heaven must look. Dawn turned from the brilliant white Basilica of Sacre-Coeur and looked out over the city toward the majestically shining Eiffel Tower. I just wish I could stay here forever.

Anthony smiled as he moved to look at her. Then just do it.

I can’t, lover. Duty calls on the shores of America.

He pulled her close gently, smiled and kissed her neck, which sent goose bumps down her body. Let’s walk down the hill so you can soak up more memories, then we will retire so I can soak up more of you.

Dawn glanced at Anthony and felt the pangs of desire grow within her. She knew the glorious night together would provide no chance for sleep. It didn’t matter; she had a flight out at eight-thirty in the morning and it would offer ample time for sleep. Tonight she’d make love in Paris. Tomorrow was another day.

Hand in hand they descended Rue Foyatier and watched as the Funicular filled with passengers slowly crept up the hill until it left the two of them in the quiet streets of Montmartre once again. Dawn paused at a dark corner and glanced toward Anthony. Kiss me here in the dark and help me build another memory.

Their lips met gently as he moved his hands down her body, an action that propelled flashes of delight through every part of her. His hand slid under her shirt and slowly moved up to her naked breast until she whispered into the silence of the night, God, I love Paris.

Dawn adjusted slightly to provide his hand more room but was jarred out of her ecstasy by the sound of voices. She looked over Anthony’s shoulder and spotted three men on the next corner, embroiled in a rather heated discussion.

Anthony turned to watch the activity below then pulled Dawn deeper into the dark alley. Without warning, the tallest of the three men pointed something at the shorter one. Suddenly the object in his hand exploded, shattering the peaceful night. In horror, Anthony and Dawn watched the shorter man crumble to the ground. When she comprehended what had just taken place, Dawn screamed, which drew the tall man’s attention to their hiding place.

Anthony grabbed Dawn’s hand and forced a retreat across the street into an alley away from the shooting. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted the tall man with the gun as he ran up the hill toward their location, all the time shouting something in a very unfriendly tone.

At the corner, Anthony directed her deeper into the darkness until she tripped on the curb and tumbled to the ground. He quickly pulled her to her feet but when she began to move, she felt something hit her leg. The sound of footsteps behind her provided incentive to ignore it as she continued to follow Anthony into another passageway.

In the alley he pulled her close and whispered, Stay here. I’m going to lead him in another direction. Wait until he passes then leave immediately and go straight to the hotel. I’ll meet you at the room after I lose him. Before she could reply, Anthony darted out of the dark recess and began to run up the hill.

Dawn heard the footsteps of their pursuer as he neared her hiding place. He stopped for a moment, picked up something from the ground, and then ran off after Anthony, who was ascending the hill with as much noise as he could in an attempt to draw the killer away from Dawn. When the murderer moved through the light across from her, she saw he was very light-skinned and there was a deep scar running down his cheek. In one hand he held the gun, but in the other was a familiar object. With a gasp Dawn recognized he held her wallet, which must have dropped from her pocket when she fell. She felt the empty side pocket in her jeans and confirmed her fears; the killer now held her identity.

In the distance Anthony made another noise as he continued up the hill. The sound caught the predator's attention and he charged after it, leaving Dawn alone in the dark. She darted from the darkness and ran down the steep incline toward Rue Tardieu, which would lead her back to her hotel. At the corner, she heard two shots ring out in the streets above. Dawn gasped. Gunshots – my God, what’s happening? Anthony, please don’t let them find you. Please come back for me.

Chapter Two

Dawn's hands shook as she attempted to pour a glass of Merlot to calm her nerves. She glanced at the spilled wine in disgust then sat on the bed with the glass grasped tightly in her hand, hoping Anthony would rush in and assure her the trouble had passed. She glimpsed at her watch only to discover it was now just after midnight; it had been well over an hour since the terrifying incident had transformed her life.

My wallet, she murmured for the tenth time in the last few minutes. The killer had her wallet and therefore her identity. Shit, shit, shit. Anthony had bought her the wallet so she could carry her cash and credit card and not be bothered with a purse. She had around one hundred euros as well as her American Express card in the leather holder. Just in case she lost it, she also put in a few of her business cards, which had all her contact information in America. She would wait another half-hour and then call the police. Hopefully Anthony would have arrived by then so she could let him decide what to do next.

She looked out of her window toward the Eiffel Tower and found her love for the Paris night drastically reduced. In her mind’s eye, she saw the scar-faced man and heard the gunshots that had so impacted her life. Where was Anthony? He lived in Paris and knew how to move around the city without getting lost, but was he able to stay away from the killer? She had no way to contact him; her cell phone didn’t work in Paris so they hadn’t exchanged numbers. For that matter, she didn’t even know his last name! My God, three nights of passion with a man and I don’t even know his last name.

The ring of the phone on her nightstand interrupted her thoughts. She shouted, Anthony?

Is this Ms. Dawn Laskey? It wasn’t Anthony. The voice was deep with a very strange accent.

Yes it is; who is this?

I found your wallet, Ms. Laskey, and wondered if I could bring it to you.

My wallet. Wait, what if it was the killer? How did he find her so fast? She didn’t have any information about her hotel in the wallet. She didn’t even have a room key; Anthony had taken it when they’d gone out for dinner.

Thank you, that’s nice of you, but I don’t need it. I stopped my American Express card and you can keep the euros for your effort.

Oh Ms. Laskey, I think you’ll want the wallet back. It also has your room key so I’ll just stop by and bring it to you.

The line went dead.

Room key! She knew for a fact the key was not in the wallet. She’d kidded Anthony about him losing her so he could bring another woman up to the room. If the voice said he had the room key, then Anthony was….

She grabbed the phone and dialed the front desk. This is Dawn Laskey in Room 322. I need to call the police department immediately, she exclaimed when the clerk answered.

Yes, Mademoiselle Laskey, the clerk replied. Is there a problem?

Yes, please put me through quickly, I need to report a murder.

There was a pause and then the line went dead. She redialed the switchboard but it rang out. There was no answer.

Dawn grabbed her purse and dashed to the door, only to stop dead in her tracks when she heard a noise at the door lock. Desperate, she slipped into the bathroom just as someone opened the front door.

Alone in the dark, she peeked through the crack of the door and surveyed the reflection in the mirror across the room. The front door swung slowly back and exposed a tall man with a gun in his hand. He closed the door behind him as he cautiously examined the empty space. Ms. Laskey, I know you’re here. We need to talk for a minute and then I’ll leave.

She watched him open the closet door, where he found nothing. He then spun to face her hiding spot. Dawn remembered her mace bottle in the purse. She lifted it toward the door and waited for him to enter. As the door flew open, she pushed down the handle and discharged the mace into the intruder’s face, keeping her finger on the button until he stumbled back and grabbed his face.

Seizing the moment, Dawn moved out of the bathroom and rushed toward the door as the temporarily incapacitated stranger stumbled around the room and shouted in an unfamiliar language. She threw open the door and darted down the hall, not pausing even when startled by the muffled sounds of gunfire behind her. Something exploded to her left but she continued to run until she swung open the stairway door.

Without a backward glance, she descended the five flights of stairs and finally exited into the hotel lobby. There she was confronted by another individual. He was dead. Obviously the stranger in her room had murdered the desk clerk. Dawn hesitated for a moment then dashed out the hotel doors and ran down the street, her heart beating painfully fast.

She rounded the corner and spied a taxi. Before the passengers had fully disembarked, she jumped in and told the driver to head to Charles de Gaulle airport. She wanted to get as far from the hotel as possible and it was the first place she thought of in her frantic escape. As the taxi moved away from the curb, she glanced out of the rear window, which revealed an empty street with no sign of her pursuer.

Dawn opened her purse, spilled out the contents and then breathed a sigh of relief when she located her passport, airline tickets and the euros she hadn’t put in her wallet. As she replaced the contents, she had a great desire to break into tears. I’m a foreigner in a strange city, caught in the crosshairs of a murderer. I need to go to the police. I’ve witnessed a murder, possibly lost my friend to the same murderer, been shot at and then found the desk manager dead in my hotel. Anthony! They had to have found him, how else would they have my room key? I’m sure they’ve killed him. If the killer shot a desk clerk who was simply trying to make a call to police, how would Anthony stand a chance?

If I go to the police, what will happen to me? I don’t speak French well at all, which would make the explanation much more difficult. How would they protect me if I did go to them? A lone American woman with a story of multiple murders, what will they do to me? I could go to the American Embassy, but then I might have to stay in Paris. I can’t stay here. I’ll die if I stay here.

Tears welled up in her eyes even as she bit her lip in an attempt to maintain control. Looking out the window, Dawn made a decision. It was now almost three in the morning and her flight was scheduled to depart in five hours. She would be on it and leave the nightmare behind her. She then remembered her luggage was in her room, which could somehow tie her into the murder in the lobby. If she ran, she might end up wanted by the police in Paris. If she stayed, she might end up dead.

In spite of the pain in her lip, her tears continued to flow down her face as her stomach knotted tightly. I have to go home, she whispered into the night around her. I have to go home.

Chapter Three

Gerald Denton looked out at the Paris night and wondered why he decided to spend a week in a city that did not seem to like him. The ‘city of romance’ sounded like a good idea at the time he booked the trip but as he thought back, he realized he hadn’t been in a state of mind to be able to think clearly about anything. Fifteen years of marriage, along with any hope of a blissful relationship and a contented family, were now in the trash. Denton laughed as he remembered the night he got off duty early only to find his loving wife Cheryl in his bed fucking his best friend. While it was a terrible scene at the time, it was now a comical memory about two naked people trying to pretend they weren’t doing what they were really doing.

He’d surprised himself at the time by not over-reacting to the discovery. He’d simply gone into the kitchen, fixed a drink and then sat quietly while his best friend Devin silently left the house. Cheryl came into the kitchen, poured a drink, then announced she was finished with the marriage and wanted a divorce. The next day they both obtained a lawyer and set up an amicable separation, followed by Cheryl moving to her own apartment. As it turned out, Devin was just one of the lovers she had in her portfolio but not the one she really favored overall. Within