Private Agendas: Book 2 of the V-Files

Pushing herself up with one hand, she moved her thick, shoulder-length, red hair off her face and tried to open her sleep encrusted eyes. I must have fallen asleep with my contacts in. I never do that. Forcing her eyes open a smidge, she noticed mascara smeared across the white bed spread. Is that mine? She heard knocking and looked around, disoriented. Where the hell am I?

“Ma’am, your dinner is here,” she heard someone with an accent say. Ah yes, Bangkok. I’m in Bangkok. Serena couldn’t recall having ordered food. But maybe she had. She felt so ill.

“Give me a minute,” she croaked, snatching the hotel robe off the bathroom door. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and noticed her nose was bleeding. Grabbing a tissue, Serena held onto the wall to steady herself as she shuffled toward the door. After a bit of fumbling, she unlocked it.

“I don't recall ordering—” The door opened suddenly, slamming her against the wall. As she fought to remain conscious, she saw the outline of two men. She felt herself slide to the floor and heard the smaller one speak in a familiar accent. She slurred, “Boston,” then passed out.