Is Mitchell about to really regret coming to Carver’s Lake with Andrea?
The ring box in his back pocket dug into his skin. It was much sturdier than it looked, and was causing him some pain. But, he was determined that he would give her the ring tonight. In fact, he would give it to her soon. And he was glad that she had walked in front of him to the boat. She had seen neither the ring box, nor the item concealed on his left ankle.
Her rowing was smooth. It was evident to Mitchell Boyd what Andrea had spent much of her summer vacations doing. How many times must she have rowed this boat far out onto the lake? He placed their glasses and the champagne bottle off to his right side, and casually brushed his ankle.
‘Are you feeling okay, Mitch? You look tired, or peaky. I’m not sure which.’ She giggled seductively at his state.
‘I’m fine, Andrea. Just happy to be here with you,’ he lied.
He felt terrible, and it wasn’t just because of the boat trip. There was an unusual feeling in the pit of his stomach. A wave of nausea was about to overcome him. He was familiar with it, and he knew immediately what she had done. She had put something into the champagne before giving it to him. Andrea had drugged him.
Mitchell ran through a list of drugs in his mind, trying to remember which one had made him feel this way before. In his line of work, he had felt it necessary to experiment with a number of sedatives and tranquilisers, just in case an emergency, such as this, arose.
Andrea watched Mitchell’s face. It wouldn’t be long before he was out cold. There was no one else here at the lake at this time of year. It was secluded enough for her to do what she wanted, in her own time.
‘Another drink, Mitchell?’ She reached for the bottle and his glass.
Mitchell Boyd was still responsive enough to reach out and grasp her arm quite hard. It shocked Andrea. She was sure that he was on his way out. She’d put enough of the tranquiliser in his champagne to drop a horse.
‘What the hell are you doing, Mitchell?’ She tried to wrench her arm from his grip.
‘I could ask you the same thing. What did you put in the champagne?’
There was malice in her smile as she responded. ‘Just a little something to help you relax. You’re such a big guy, and I’m only a helpless woman. I need to get the upper hand somehow.’
. . . To be continued . . .