Tuesday Tales: From the Word BARK

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. If the site looks different, it’s because everything has vanished on me and I’n struggling to rebuild it, not an easy task I can assure you, especially when I can’t seem to figure out how I did it in the first place!

No doubt I’ve misplaced all my followers too!

This week’s post from The White Dahlia is based on the word prompt, BARK.

Grabbing her vest, badge, and jacket, she swallowed down half the cup of hot coffee, and hurried to the elevator, and after cursing her decision to wear heels tonight, pressed the call button and waited. How much of her life had been spent waiting for damn elevators? Her knock-off Ferragamos were comfortable to a point, but in them, taking the stairs down four flights would be tantamount to suicide.

She’d wanted something to do, hadn’t she? But before she could get back on the streets, even in as temporary a position as this one, she would need another partner. Morelli, whose bark was worse than his bite, claimed she was either damn lucky or cursed. Even she had trouble trying to decide which one it was. She thought of the three dahlias—one for Colin King, one for Saul Levitt, and one for Ben Cole—three partners she’d lost. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the bouquet.

Killing a man was easier in simulations and training exercises than it was in real life. It was true that she hadn’t had a choice, but damn it, considering her skills in negotiation, she should’ve been able to talk her way out of it. During her six years on the force in Boston, including the last two seconded to the FBI, she’d never been injured nor had she fired her weapon in the line of duty. Five years in New York, and she’d been shot twice, had wounded one man, and had killed another. That didn’t bode well for the future.

The elevator dinged, and Beth stepped into the car, pushing the button for the garage level. Grabbing a set of keys from the night watchman, she headed toward the dark blue SUV, mindful of the fact she was heading to an active crime scene unarmed. She would be lucky if Lieutenant Harris didn’t rip her head off for this, but honestly, one more day of nothing but paperwork, and she would scream. Maybe Papa Tom was right and it was time to move on—again. But running away from Boston hadn’t solved anything. There were some things that followed you wherever you went, and fear was one of them.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.