Chapter Forty One_Dark Angel

On an exotic island, in a posh house, a beautiful, skimpily-dressed, young woman lay lounging on her patio, quietly enjoying a cocktail of missed fruits through a straw, with a lemon wedge perched on a tall, cool glass.

Suddenly, her phone rang.

She ignored it for a while, but after it rang insistently, she sighed and lazily picked it up.

"Hello?" She greeted, a frown on her face.

"Ms. Bevy Onasius?" The voice at the other end asked, tentatively.

"And who are you?" She replied with a question of her own.

"We are an International Security Agency affiliated with INTERPOL, and we are pleased to request for your service," the voice informed her.

"I'm sorry, but you have the wrong person. I'll have to end this call," the young woman declined.

"Wait a minute," the voice held her back, a bit sharply.

The young woman paused, then decided to listen.

"I'm still here," She told the voice on the phone.