It was a cold, snowy night. Chad Cargo pulled his silver Porsche 911 into the garage just before a huge limb came crashing down from the massive oak tree in front of his mansion. Shit, he thought, I timed that just right. An amber glow emminated from the windows of his large, stately home. He looked up into the window at the top of the tower. There, silloueted in the window, stood his reason for living. Amber Waves was just a girl when Chad came to live at Oakside Manor. The daughter of the chauffeur, she was a plain girl, a bit of a tomboy really. But over the next few years, as Chad was away stationed in the Arctic on a secret CIA mission, she had blossomed into a beautiful, boxum blonde. Chad had never seen a woman so striking. His appetite warmed as he gazed on her through the window. But suddenly, there was another shadow he saw. It was hard to make out exactly who it was. Only when a single bolt of lightning flashed in the sky, was he able to make out the face of Stetson Greyson, his arch rival. What the hell is he doing here, Chad thought. Instantly, and without hesitation Chad pulled out the 35mm Luger pistol and quickly made his way into the house.
Chad crept his way into the kitchen. No lights were on, but the glow from several dozen candles illuminated the room. Half eaten plates of oysters and caviar were sitting on the long marble island. Was that Beef Stroganoff he smelled? Cripes, how long had this guy been here, he thought. There was still wine in the tall, crystal glasses. He picked up one of the glasses. There, on the rim, the perfect imprint of his wifes' lips. She was wearing Cherry Blossom, his favorite color. He had picked it out for her in Paris on their honeymoon. He loved the way it accentuated her full lips. He put the glass down and made his way into the great room. Lightning flashed in the windows, lighting up the cavernous room. A stone fireplace on the far wall glowed with embers from the now dying fire. Pillows were carelessly tossed on the floor in front of the hearth. More plates, with half eaten chocolate covered strawberries lay on tables nearby. The smell of Chanel no 5 lingered in the air. Dammit, she was wearing his favorite cologne, too. Silently he made his way toward the large spiral staircase. Laying over the oak banister was a black dress. A few steps up the staircase and a Manolo Balonik stilletto lay on its side, obviously tossed aside in a moment of torid passion. There were few things in Ambers' life that she cared more about than her shoes. Even in their most passionate moments, his wife had always taken the time to put her shoes carefully back in their satin storage bags. The realization that she had been careless with the eight hundred dollar heels, struck like a blow to Chad's gut.
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