Virtual Murder Read online

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  Loose Id LLC

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright ©2004 by Jennifer Macaire

  First published by Novel Books, 2003

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  This book is rated: Spicy

  Some explicit sexual content.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Editor: Erin Mullarkey

  Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

  Chapter One

  Where are you off to, lady? For I see you,

  You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

  ~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

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  He had blond hair, bleached almost white by salt water, and turquoise chips for eyes. Dressed in the Virtual Tours uniform of khaki shorts and a white button-down Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he also wore a whistle around his neck for no other reason than aesthetics. A red bandana flirted insolently out of his back pocket.

  He put one hand over his eyes, shading them from the bright sun. With the other, he motioned to the gangplank, calling in a loud voice, “Welcome to Virtual Tours. I'm Mitch, your tour guide for this leg of the voyage. This way, ladies, please watch your step. The boat will be leaving in five minutes. Take your assigned seats. The number on your ticket corresponds to the seat number, clearly indicated on the front of each chair. Can I help you, ma'am? That's right, third seat on the left. You'll have a magnificent view of the island as we cruise by Redhook.

  When all the tourists had boarded, he waved to the captain and jumped into the cabin. He strolled down the aisle, making sure everyone was seated. Pausing in front of a woman wearing a red sundress, he flashed a brilliant smile. “Hello, Rhonda. I saw you in the sending room at the tour headquarters. I hope you have a pleasant trip. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."

  Rhonda blushed and leaned over to the woman next to her. “My, isn't he a nice-looking man?"

  The woman smiled at her in a conspiratorial manner. “They're all gorgeous! The Virtual Tours Agency goes out of its way to please their clients—in this case overworked career women, like us."

  "I still can't get over it. I feel exactly as if I'm sitting on a boat, speaking to you. I can even smell suntan lotion, sea air, and the diesel fuel from the boat's engines. I'm having a hard time believing it's all an illusion!” Rhonda gave an amazed laugh.

  "Okay, I'll prove it. What seat are you in?” the woman asked.

  "The first seat on the left, window seat, with plenty of leg room and a superb view. Why do you ask? You're sitting right next to me, in the aisle."

  "No, dear. I'm sitting in the first seat on the left, next to the window, and you're sitting on the aisle. We both asked for the same seat, and the Virtual Tours gave it to us."

  "Well, I'll be! I'm Rhonda, by the way, from Nashville. You must be a regular virtual-traveler. It's my first trip.” She smiled nervously.

  "My name's Veronique. I'm from Paris. If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask. I've been doing these trips for three years now, once every six months."

  "That's wonderful.” Rhonda settled back in her seat. “Oh, look at that view! The sailboats in the harbor, the sunlight sparkling on the waves and the islands in the distance, it's all so romantic. I can't wait to get to Tortola. I'm staying in the Sea Cow Hotel. Are you staying there too?"

  "No, I'm going on to Virgin Gorda, but I've been to the Sea Cow. It's wonderful. Ask for the stuffed grouper; it's divine."

  "How do they make everything seem so real?” Rhonda asked.

  "Everything is real, in a way. Even this boat, the Bomba Charger, is an actual ferryboat making its way from St. Thomas to Virgin Gorda, stopping in Tortola. It's extremely sophisticated from what I gather, which is why virtual tourism costs nearly as much as a real trip does."

  "'It's a two-week adventure, with all food and drinks included in the deal!'” quoted Rhonda.

  "You're getting everything intravenously, chérie, don't forget. And in reality, it only lasts for two days. On your virtual trip, you won't sleep but a few minutes a ‘night,’ although you'll feel as if it's been a full eight hours. We won't get stiff either; electrodes take care of stimulating our muscles for us while we sleep."

  "I know.” Rhonda giggled. “I was nervous when they explained that part to me. I hate thinking of my body lying back at the institute, with all those wires and tubes in it. But I always wanted to go to the Caribbean, and this seemed like the perfect plan."

  "It's a great idea. Especially for people like me, who work practically non-stop. You cram two weeks into only two days. I feel so refreshed after these trips. I'm even more relaxed and toned than after a real vacation, believe me. The scenery is unspoiled, no waiting in dreary lines, and we can do anything we want from scuba diving to hang-gliding in total security. Our guides take care of our slightest wish."

  "Our slightest wish?” Rhonda felt a spark of interest and twisted in her seat to get a better look at the blond man. “Do we get to ask them out on dates?"

  "No!” Veronique shook her head emphatically. “You can't even get near them. I've tried, believe me. But they don't let you touch them; it's against Tour rules. It's frustrating, especially at the beach, when they're strolling around in their bathing suits.” She sighed. “But there are other people. I've met a few other tourists and even dated one for a while after I got back from the virtual trip."

  "You exchanged names and addresses?"

  "Of course."

  "And he wasn't, you know, disappointed?” Rhonda asked.

  "Why?” Veronique sounded amused. “Don't tell me you've chosen a virtual body for your trip?"

  Rhonda nodded, reddening. “I'm not as young as this! When the tour operator asked for a photo of me, I sent them one of me in my twenties. I wanted to feel young again. It's amazing what the brain can do. I feel as if I've gone back in time.” She hesitated a moment. “Forgive me if I'm being rude, but ... is that your real body?"

  Veronique shrugged. “Give or take a few pounds, wrinkles and gray hairs. It's true our brains can imagine us young again, but we can't choose a completely different body. It would be impossible to keep up the illusion. As soon as we saw something that captured our attention, we'd change back to the body our brain was familiar with. That's why the tour guides are all so young and handsome in real life, too.” She winked. “You'll meet many people on your virtual trip. The trick is learning which ones are real and which are simply computer-generated images. There's nothing as embarrassing as finding out you're flirting with a figment."

  "A figment?"

  "Tha
t's what people created from a computer program are called. Real people's projections are called virtuals."

  Rhonda was dismayed. “How can I tell the difference between a figment and a virtual? I thought everyone was based on a real person!"

  "Well, figments usually wear white uniforms. The best way to be sure is to ask, but if you don't want to appear rude, just ask if he's been on many trips before. A figment will reply that he's part of the program."

  "I can't thank you enough for your advice,” Rhonda said. “Can you touch someone in this, um, world?"

  "Of course. Try, touch my arm!” Veronique grinned, patting her arm.

  Rhonda reached over and touched her forearm. She could feel everything—the woman's skin, her gold bracelet and even the fine hairs on her arm. “Amazing,” she murmured. “How do they do it?"

  "Sensor devices, implants. It's all done through the brain, all highly sophisticated. You'll taste the food, feel the sand on the beach, splash in the ocean and burn in the hot sun. The only thing that isn't the same is making love.” Veronique lowered her voice. “As you probably have heard, it's a Net prohibition. It's about as exciting as filing your nails."

  "Oh, of course I heard. But I didn't come on the vacation for that.” Rhonda blushed. “I wanted sight-seeing and relaxation. Look, we're almost there!” Rhonda craned her neck, pointing out the window. “Isn't it beautiful?"

  "That's Tortola, a British Virgin Island. Is your passport in order?"

  Rhonda drew it out of her purse and flipped it open. “Look, isn't that funny? It even has a picture of my virtual self."

  "We're docking now. This is your stop. Have a great time, Rhonda."

  "Thank you. I will.” Rhonda made her way off the boat, down the gangplank and onto a cement dock. Three other tourists were waiting there, suitcases at their feet. Rhonda had a small duffel bag slung over her shoulder. The sun was scorching, and she was glad she'd brought a wide-brimmed hat.

  The handsome tour guide waved to them from the boat. “Go to the end of the docks and pass customs. Your new guide will be waiting on the other side. His name's Arthur and he'll be in charge of you for the rest of your trip."

  Rhonda turned to the woman next to her and sighed. “I wish he was staying with us."

  The woman picked up her bag. “I'm sure the next one will be just as charming. Shall we go? I'm looking forward to a nice, cold piña colada."

  The group made their way to the end of the quay, carrying their luggage, wilting a bit in the blinding heat. Small waves clapped against the sides of the pier. The water was so clear it was like glass. Black, spiky sea urchins and pink snails spotted the seabed, and barnacles encrusted the tall, wooden posts holding up the cement pier. Schools of tiny, silver fish flashed as they darted about. The smell of seawater, fish and the tar that covered the posts was amplified by the hot sun. Rhonda narrowed her eyes against the dazzle. She would have to buy sunglasses in town.

  Once past customs, a man wearing the Virtual Tours uniform met the little group. Introducing himself with a bright smile as Arthur, he gallantly took their luggage, leading them to a white Jeep with the words ‘Virtual Tours’ painted on it in bright pink. He settled the women into the Jeep and climbed in, apologizing for the hot seats.

  "There's no shade in the parking lot, but once we get moving the breeze will cool you off."

  They drove on the left-hand side, as befitting an ex-British colony. The narrow road wound around the mountainside, climbing higher as they left the docks and headed inland. They drove past a small village where shops flaunted bright dresses, shell necklaces and leather goods. Natives sat in wicker rocking chairs on their porches, fanning themselves and waving in a friendly fashion at the tourists. Goats grazed in the shade between the buildings, and white chickens scratched about in the red dust road. Fuchsia bougainvillea grew in profusion, clambering boisterously over crumbling stone walls and the brightly painted wooden houses. The tin-roofed houses were painted sugar-candy pink, red, yellow or robin's egg blue.

  Rhonda was seated in the front, right next to Arthur. As they climbed higher, she had a splendid view of the village nestled cozily in a deep harbor. “What's the name of that town?” she asked, pointing.

  "Roadtown. It's the main town here in Tortola. The hotel is on the east end, on Sea Cow Bay. We have a private beach with wonderful snorkeling. If you wish, a bus leaves twice a day to town so you can go sightseeing or shopping.” He glanced over his shoulder. “A few words of advice, ladies. All the goods you see in the stores are existing objects, duplicated and delivered to your home after the vacation. Your credit card will be debited for all purchases, so buy only things you want to take home with you.” He drove expertly up the steep mountain. The road twisted and climbed so violently at times that Rhonda was obliged to brace her feet against the floorboards and hold tightly to the seat.

  "Don't worry.” Arthur glanced at her white knuckles and grinned. “I'm used to this road, and there's hardly ever any traffic."

  Rhonda nodded thankfully and gazed at the houses, now as tiny as dollhouses, below. The water sparkled in the harbor where sailboats and fishing boats were anchored. Flamboyant trees spread their huge branches covered in scarlet blooms. Flocks of green parakeets flew among the trees, and tamarind trees waved feathery fronds in the nearly constant Trade Winds. Spiky century plants and prickly ‘monkey-puzzle’ trees grew on the steep slopes. Where the dirt showed through it was bright red, like a raw wound in the earth. Along the seacoast, black volcanic boulders made a striking visual contrast to white coral beaches and peacock-colored water.

  The air was torrid. It was noon, and the sun blazed overhead. Rhonda's head nodded and she dozed off; the heat pounding through the canvas roof of the Jeep sapped her energy.

  She woke with a jerk to the feel of sweat trickling down her neck, between her breasts, and tickling her skin. She plucked at her shirt, lifting her heavy hair off her neck and sighing in relief as the breeze touched her damp skin. In her virtual body, she felt as if her senses were magnified. Everything seemed brighter and stronger. She blinked and shook her head.

  "It'll be cooler by the sea.” Arthur nodded towards the blue expanse of water visible between two tall mountaintops. “We'll be there in half an hour."

  All at once, no matter how she tried, she couldn't stay awake. She felt her eyelids getting heavy, and although she tried to speak, she couldn't. In an instant, Rhonda fell asleep and her mind slipped away. A minute later, her eyes reopened. She blinked and focused on the man next to her.

  His voice was deep and warm, and when he spoke, she had the impression they were alone together. She stole a glance at the man sitting so close to her. She could feel his hand brushing her thigh when he shifted gears, and she wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

  He was looking at her from the corner of his eye. She smiled to herself. The body she'd chosen was so ripe, so voluptuous, it was like a heavy fruit just begging to be picked. Her fingers trailed sensually down her chest, tracing the unfamiliar line of bony collarbone and the swell of exquisitely soft breasts. Her breathing quickened. It must be the heat that made her respond like this. It was overwhelming. The air was so hot she could feel it as a constant caress.

  She looked at the man again and noticed he was sweating. A bead of perspiration trickled down his temple, over his cheek, down his neck to disappear into his shirt. She wanted to lick it away. Could the feeling growing in her body be love? It felt as if her blood were getting thicker, as if her limbs were too heavy for her. She wanted to lie down, stretch her arms above her head, arch her back, and spread her thighs wide open. A sharp pang in her belly made her moan softly. Was that love? She had never felt as completely real as in this virtual body. She felt her whole attention concentrated on one person, as if her personality suddenly distilled, and the drop of her that was left absorbed into the man right next to her.

  Her eyes slid once more in his direction. He was beautiful. His wavy chestnut hair was tousled from the
wind, and his bright, hazel eyes were nearly the color of amber. He had a deep, even tan on his muscular arms, and his lashes were very long. She yearned to feel those arms around her and have his lashes tickle her hot skin. He was driving with an expression of fierce concentration on his angular face.

  The road twisted and climbed steeply. “What's your name?” she asked, her voice husky.

  The man smiled. “Arthur, ma'am."

  She whispered his name, her tongue trying it out, letting it slip between her teeth. He glanced at her, and she felt the weight of his look like a hot touch. Amber eyes made his gaze burn. Was she falling in love with his wide shoulders and narrow hips? Was that why her legs longed to wrap themselves around his lithe waist and draw him into her? The thought was so evocative she felt her head spin. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back and opened her mouth wide, drawing in deep gulps of air. Oh God, this heat!

  "Are you all right?” Arthur asked her, concern in his deep voice.

  She opened her eyes and licked dry lips. “I never thought it would be so hot. I suppose I expected something more, well, lush."

  "It's greener during the fall, when the rainy season comes. It's April now. We're heading into the dry season, and the heat leaches the moisture out of the air. Most folks don't know that these islands are truly desert islands, with little or no source of water. Take care when you shower. Wet yourself, turn off the water, lather your skin, and shampoo. Then turn the water back on to rinse. The same goes for brushing teeth and flushing toilets.” Arthur raised his voice so that the other tourists could hear him. “In this land of sun and fun, we never flush for number one,” he quoted. “I hope you all know what that means?"

  "I thought that this was a virtual trip. I mean, we can do as we like, can't we?” a woman, asked, leaning forward.

  "We'd like everyone to enjoy themselves exactly as if they were truly traveling,” Arthur's voice was laced with a hint of impatience. “If you thought you could do anything, I invite you to try jumping out of the Jeep or off a cliff. Your experience will be quite the same as a real accident. You'll feel pain, and if your limbs break, you'll feel that too. Back in the institute, you'll wake up screaming with a whole team of psychiatrists ready to analyze your antisocial behavior."