Macular Malice: Malice, #32

By K'Anne Meinel

Alice is a real lady killer… with a little help from her frenemies.  Just when people think her hands are tied, Alice proves how adept she is at untying the knots that bind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadoe Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224640881

K'Anne Meinel

K’Anne Meinel is a prolific best-selling fiction writer with more than one hundred published works including shorts, novellas, and novels.  She is an American author born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and raised outside of Oconomowoc.  Upon early graduation from high school, she went to a private college in Milwaukee and then moved to California.  Many of her stories are noted for being realistic, with wonderfully detailed backgrounds and compelling storylines.  Called the Danielle Steel of her time, K’Anne continues to write interesting stories in a variety of genres in both the lesbian and mainstream fiction categories.  Her website is @ www.kannemeinel.com.  K’Anne is also the publisher and owner of Shadoe Publishing, LLC @ www.shadoepublishing.com and in December 2017 she started the Lesfic Bard Awards @ www.lesficbardawards.com.  In December 2018 she launched the Gay Scribe Awards @ www.gayscribeawards.com in hopes of duplicating the first year’s success of the Lesfic Bard Awards and to showcase more LGBT literature.

Book preview

Table of Contents

MACULAR MALICE

About the Author

MACULAR MALICE

A Novella by K’Anne Meinel

E-Book Edition

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Published by:

Shadoe Publishing for

K’Anne Meinel as an E-Book

Copyright © K’Anne Meinel June 2024

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MACULAR MALICE

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Dedicated to anyone who thinks I’m writing about them.

I am.

K’Anne

Alice? Madelyn managed to get out.

Alice breathed, Very good, keeping her voice low. 

W ... w ... why? she stuttered, unsure of how long she had until this woman killed her.

Because I warned you and your people to stay away from my family, she told her, not easing her grip.

Madelyn had to wonder how she hadn’t heard or felt the woman climb on her bed or how she had managed to wrap her hands around her head, twisting it in a way that would break her neck.  How she also held a knife to the woman’s throat was a feat.  I didn’t touch your family, she whispered, sure if she raised her voice in alarm, or at least loud enough that the men and woman who patrolled would hear, it would be the last thing she did.

You recall from your active days how fast a person bleeds out if I cut here? Alice asked conversationally, applying the slightest pressure against Madelyn’s skin with her knife to make her point.

I didn’t ... she began, wanting to shake her head to the negative but afraid her artery would be sliced.

I warned you ...

I understood and stayed away.

And yet, someone contacted my daughter ... she hissed.  She eased her hold only marginally; her hand was falling asleep.  She kept her other hand against the carotid with the knife she had scooped up on her way through Madelyn’s kitchen.  How ironic that the cooking knife the woman used might very well end her life.

Not from the CIA, she tried to sound reassuring, knowing this could end badly, and very easily at that.  A misunderstanding of this magnitude would mean her death.  I assure you ... she began, but Alice interrupted.

You have no ‘in’ at the FBI? she asked, wondering if her memory was slipping further.  So much had happened over the years, and yet ...

They’ve taken over your case, but I haven’t heard anything in months.  She didn’t tell her that the leads Alice had presented them with had taken up an entire team’s time for months and possibly would for years.  Kazakhstan was a hotbed for arms, and it was controlled by Russians.  Many of those in power had disappeared or died.  She didn’t know that some of those missing or dead were the result of Alice’s own work.

Alice believed her and yet didn’t remove the knife or lesson her hold.  Her hand might start shaking if she didn’t make a decision, and soon.  How do I know you aren’t lying to protect your hide?

I know better, she promised and hoped that this woman, who she suspected was a killer or, at least, had frightened her before in her career, would let her go.  Any proof she had that Alice had killed was superficial and subjective.  She didn’t know she had killed, not with any certainty, but her suspicions and gut instinct told her Alice could and would kill her.  She breathed easier when Alice let go of her neck, thinking that she’d done it because she believed her and not because Alice’s hand was starting to hurt.  The knife remained, and Madelyn realized it was one of her kitchen sets, quite sharp, and would do maximum damage if she moved.

Then who should I be talking to about this breach of my agreement? she breathed ominously.

Madelyn knew that if she named anyone, they were probably marked for death.  I don’t know who contacted her.

I do, Alice told her. She turned on a small penlight with her free hand and held a card she had filched from her daughter’s desk toward Madelyn.  As Madelyn went to grab it, Alice pulled it away, Nuh, uh, uh, she cautioned.  I have to return it to where I found it.

Well, I can’t read it without my glasses.  Sorry, but I’ve gotten older, the woman stated, squinting in the small and pinpointed light.

It was this, more than anything else, that determined it for Alice. She, of all people, understood the ravages of time.  Madelyn was telling the truth.  She had nothing to do with recruiting Kit.  Alice pulled the knife away.  Get your glasses, she ordered but watched the CIA operative carefully, getting off the bed and waiting to see what she would do.  If you’re looking for the gun in your nightstand, that hidden swing-away shelf underneath is now empty, she informed her.

Don’t miss a trick, do you? Madelyn grumbled, reaching onto the nightstand and fumbling for her glasses that were on a book.

Alice held the card and the penlight in one hand for the woman once she was wearing the reading glasses as she squinted through them.  She noted that Alice didn’t release the knife she was holding.

I’ve never heard of this person, she admitted.  Is it possible that this could have been someone genuinely recruiting your daughter?  For her grades or something other than you?

Alice had thought of that.  She’d used the back door she had installed into the FBI system, something she knew their topnotch IT specialists had said wasn’t possible, to investigate the person.  She didn’t have the same access on her laptop, or even Kit’s new laptop, that she did on her computers back home.  With the limited ability, she didn’t think the offer was genuine.  No, she replied succinctly, backing away and turning off the light, plunging the room into darkness, but her eyes adjusted quickly, much quicker than Madelyn’s, which were still looking through the glasses.  She quickly removed them but had a hard time locating Alice again until she spoke again.  This is my warning to you, she stated.  People will die, and both teams will be embarrassed if my family is not left alone.

I have no control over the FBI ... Madelyn protested honestly, but there was no response.  She was looking at where Alice’s whisper had come from, listening into the darkness, but couldn’t see.  Do you mind if I turn on this lamp? she indicated, although she wasn’t certain Alice could see her or her gesture toward the one on the nightstand.  When there was no answer, she asked, Alice?  She waited a few seconds and repeated her name.  Then, she reached for the light and flicked it on, her eyes adjusting to its muted brightness quickly.  She looked around her bedroom and saw no one there.  If she didn’t know better, hadn’t felt the strain on her neck, and felt the sharp knife, she would swear that Alice hadn’t been there.  What the hell? she said instead as she got up, debating about calling her security detail. 

Knowing that this could go one of two ways, they could come in, with guns drawn, and search the house, find nothing, and think she was going batty at her age.  Or two, find Alice, and questions would arise as to how well Madelyn knew her.  After all, the woman had come into her home and demanded answers.  She didn’t want to reveal how she knew Alice Weaver, who had supplied them with some pretty damning information that would definitely give the US a black eye in the public’s view—hell, in the world’s view.  She didn’t want a report of this