The other envelope was densely packed with fifty dollar bills. One hundred portraits of Ulysses S. Grant stared back at her as she fanned them out.
But, the color seemed strangely faded. Sara bent closer before jumping back in surprise.
Each and every one was stamped with the year 1929. Gooseflesh tingled down her arms once more as she slipped the bills back into the envelope.
Suddenly, she felt dirty and went to wash her hands in the small sink in the corner of the room, but first she placed the envelope of cash in the mini fridge on the floor; not just on a shelf, but in the tiny freezer. If she could have, she would have preferred burying it somewhere outside instead. Somehow she felt that would have been more appropriate.
Hands freshly washed in scalding hot water, Sara came back to the letter and that was when she finally noticed.
The writing was in the same looping script as on the exterior of its envelope. Not by ballpoint pen, but rather something like a calligrapher’s pen.
She had no difficulty, in fact, imagining a fluffy white plume penning the scrawling words upon the paper.
But, the worst, the very worst of all was the color of the ink. Not black, nor deep indigo blue.
It was of a rusty brown color and in places where it had dripped down and been only perfunctorily blotted, it remained slightly wet.
And blood red....
Her Billionaire, Her Wolf--His Every Desire (A Paranormal BDSM Erotic Romance) Page 6