Federal Affair

Chapter 3

On Wednesday morning I awoke in a daze. The early morning sun was blaring through the window, hot on my face. I had a tremendous pulsing migraine from the previous night's drinks clouding my vision and adding to how lightheaded I felt.

"Derek," I groaned, keeping my eyes shut tightly. "Close the fucking blinds."

I yanked the covers over my head and buried my face in the pillow. I lay there waiting for Derek to climb out of bed and shut the blinds but I never felt the rise of the mattress or heard the familiar sound of him pulling the string on the blinds.

"Derek," I mumbled again tiredly, hugging the sheets to my chest. "Shut the fucking window, please."

Still, Derek didn't get up. I groaned out of frustration, not wanting to get up myself, and tossed the covers off my body, opening my eyes to reveal a room that I wasn't familiar with at all.

I jolted straight up in the bed. Confused, I closed my eyes tight and shook my head as if that would wake me up from what I was hoping was a dream. A very, very bizarre dream.

This wasn't my bedroom. This wasn't my house. And this certainly wasn't Derek's apartment either. Where the hell was I?

"Derek?" I called, pulling the sheets back up around my naked torso.

Derek didn't answer.

I climbed out of bed, shivering at the feeling of the cold hardwood floor under my bare feet. Across the room I noticed my heels lying neatly against the baseboard of a cream colored wall. I turned in a circle to take in the room.

The bed was king size with black Egyptian cotton sheets and a puffy black comforter. There were matching mahogany nightstands on either side, one with a lamp and the other with a cellphone, a note and my engagement ring.

This definitely wasn't a hotel room. I was in somebody's house but I had no clue whose.

"Derek!" I yelled, angst creeping up my spine more and more as the seconds ticked by. "Derek!"

Still no answer.

I sat back down on the bed wrapping the sheets tightly around my body. I didn't see my clothes anywhere and I was way too exposed in just my panties. I mentally cursed myself for not wearing a bra the night before.

I picked up the note from the nightstand and glanced over the scribbles. I didn't recognize the handwriting.

Hope you're feeling better when you read this. Last night was interesting. There's water and aspirin in the kitchen if you wake up before I get back.

There was no name at the bottom. I glanced back to the nightstand where a black iPhone lay. It wasn't mine. I felt kind of bad for snooping but I figured the phone might have a name or something in it that would help me figure out who wrote me the note, or where the hell I was.

I flipped through the contacts, recognizing several names from Hampton, Burns and Hampton. I also noticed several contacts that started with "Detective," "Officer," and "Agent."

What?

I was getting more confused by the second. I decided to look through the person's texts.

The most recent conversation was between the phone's owner and someone named Detective Reese. There was a lot of back and forth on whether or not this person should talk to her, whoever she was.

Detective Reese never mentioned the name of the person texting them from this phone so I was still at square one.

I was about to start searching through apps. Maybe they were logged into a Facebook account. That would tell me a name. But I heard footsteps coming up the wooden staircase and hurriedly set the phone back where I found it, tugging the sheets even tighter.