Blast from the past: Short story from 2013 – Under Cover

In 2013 I wrote this Short story for publication on Morgen Bailey’s Writing Blog.  It was also Pod-cast by her soon after.

It was well received and encouraged by this I thought I’d eventually turn it into a longer story, perhaps even a book.  But then other stories took precedence, especially the divine Ms Birdsong Investigates and projects for my publisher, Accent Press, so the story was pushed to the back of my mind, and there it might have remained, had I not been reminded of it recently.

 It came to me in the middle of the night when, for no apparent reason, I sat bolt upright in bed wide awake.

Something woke me, my subconscious I suppose, working away on my stories , and in only a few seconds it dawned on me; this piece fitted right into another story I’ve been working on –  I should incorporate the two stories.

So I have, and they work brilliantly together, but I’m not giving anything away here; it’s a work in progress for some other time.

But I thought it would be fun to post the cause of all my excitement – the 495 word  story – once more. So here it is:

handcuffs_03_hd_picture_166679 (1)

Under Cover

For the last three years she had lived another life, had buried her real self, taking on the mantle of a hardened Madam, a trafficker of girls, the worst kind of criminal and, for the umpteenth time, she had fought nausea as she negotiated with the Eastern European.

Her control back at the command had shown concern the last time they’d met.  He could see the physical and mental toll this assignment was having on her, but they were committed now; there was no going back.  The team had spent too long infiltrating the organisation and she was their only hope.  During the time she had been under cover she had alerted them to more shipments of girls than he cared to recall, and the risk had grown with her every betrayal.

She knew it was only a matter of time before they rumbled her and her life wouldn’t be worth a fig if the team were unable to protect her and extradite her, at exactly the right moment.  The latest shipment had arrived at Heathrow only hours before and were already on their way to a secret location in London where there would be an auction of the girls, some as young as eight, and where the special unit of police would be waiting to raid them.  Her message had been received and the team was ready for any trouble which might ensue.

Marko eyed her from the bed as she gathered her clothes and prepared to shower and dress.  He didn’t trust her anymore, she seemed nervous and remote these days and his gut didn’t feel right; she didn’t feel right.  For a long time he’d had suspicions. She seemed to be softening towards the girls under her control and he was debating whether to remove her from her role as Madam of the main whorehouse, which she’d run so successfully.  Too many things had been going wrong lately.  Too many shipments had been discovered and although he had managed to remain more or less anonymous and untouchable, he knew his luck would run out unless he acted soon.  Was it her?  He hoped it wasn’t but he would soon know; the trap was set.  If the latest consignment of girls was discovered, and raided, he would know.

She lingered in the bathroom, fully dressed, senses heightened.  Marko had been a bit distant and had appeared suspicious of her movements all week.  He seemed to make a point of repeating the instructions for the latest intake of girls – where they would be, even giving her more detail than usual about on-line bidders.  Something wasn’t right.  She needed to contact control.  Marko’s kiss goodbye seemed final somehow.

As she pulled the door gently towards her, the phone rang.  She hesitated, listening to the conversation, her ear against the door; terror gripped her as she heard his words.  As she turned a strong pair of arms grabbed her and she screamed.


Have you ever done the same thing? Written two completely separate stories and something makes you link them together and when you do, they work like magic. 

Our subconscious minds are amazing organs.


    • I was going to do it last week but the boiler died a while back and it has been fun and games ever since. Finally it is fixed. Got hot water and heat again – might peel a grape I am so excited! I suddenly discovered it fitted in well with a WIP as if they were made for each other. Have you ever had that happen? I have een thinking about photos in the Mojave – large snake holes come to mind. Also thinking about your post re femme fatale, and it is hard to list any other than those you mentioned. Got me wondering why. Been having a wander around your blog today, enjoying it a lot. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      • Thanks very much, Jane 🙂 – And I am happy you have your boiler sorted. And yes, I’ve had some flash fiction I’ve scribbled end up fitting into a WIP. I think that’s a great feeling! Happy for you.

        Liked by 1 person

    • Hi Jane,
      Just recently I did the same, struggling with my second rewrite I found a hole, a something missing, that’s when I remembered my man. Hidden in a box from years gone by, I don’t know how or why he came to mind. You know when you have a leaky tap or an annoying drip, one that bothers you and suddenly you recall the name of a good plumber. Well that was what it was like. Your story can only benefit from this total recall. Thanks for posting it.
      P.s. #iamwriting #rewriting.😇

      Liked by 2 people

Please leave a reply and comment - your input is really appreciated. Thanks, Jane

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