VIOLET EYED ANGEL Short Story Prologue to ANGEL EYES Published by Tess St. John at Smashwords Copyright 2012 Tess St. John Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not meant to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organization or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Dedication To John, my hero. Special thanks goes to my mom (the best cheerleader in the world), Robin, Sandy, Judythe, Carolyn, Sue, Aileen, Bethany, William, Missy, and Kathleen (for critiquing and braving the journey with me). VIOLET EYED ANGEL Short Story Prologue to ANGEL EYES Twenty years ago Roy Hansen slipped through the small, second story window—where all the windows facing port side were open—and smelled smoke in the darkened warehouse. He scanned the floor below. Amidst a maze of boxes, in a dimly lit cleared out spot, three gagged men hung by their bound hands, their feet inches from the ground. Not far from them, four men poked some type of poles into a fire flaming from an industrial garbage can. That explained the open windows, but it wasn’t cold for a May morning. Why the fire? Hours ago, on the plane ride from D.C., lead case agent Campo briefed Roy about three agents assigned to the Champagne case who hadn’t reported in for two days. No doubt they were the men strung up like sides of beef. Before the agents went MIA, they’d informed Campo that Champagne rented this warehouse at the port of Houston for drug trafficking. This was the logical place to search first—although Roy had gotten the vibe Campo assumed the agents were dead. Thank God that wasn’t true. His mission was to find out if these men were still alive, and if they were, call in backup. He twisted around to climb back through the window and radio for reinforcements. “How dare you bastards worm your way into my business.” Roy glanced down again to find a huge man in a three piece suit speaking. Derek Champagne. “My men will perform this ritual on you, one each of them has endured, to mark you as mine before I kill you.” The man standing next to Champagne yanked an iron bar out of the fire and held it over his head like a knight with a sword, then spun toward the agents. “What’s the Bureau gonna do for you now?” Roy’s gaze zeroed in on the rod. Holy hell. A branding iron. Change of plans. Adrenaline surged through his body like scattering lizards. He forced his breathing to slow. In. Out. His heightened senses fixated on the scene below. His strumming, staccato heartbeats slowed. Soundlessly, he raced across the exposed metal ceiling beams fast as he dared, to a small steel ladder on the wall to his right. The man holding the poker aloft stepped toward the agents. Roy drew his gun. He didn’t have a straight shot at Champagne or his men, but he took a deep breath, let half of it out, and aimed at the man lifting the rod. He’d give away his position, but hoped to stun the men long enough to use that to his advantage. His first shot hit the brute’s upper torso, under one of his raised arms. He collapsed atop the glowing iron and his tormented screams rent the air. Roy’s next bullet pierced another thug’s back. Champagne and a younger man scrambled toward a row of boxes. Roy got off another round, nailing Champagne in the leg. Growling a string of curses, the enormous man hobbled out of sight. Roy descended the ladder, shooting at the boxes where Champagne and the man disappeared, then wended through the aisles. Staying in the shadows, he neared the clearing, until he was able to see the agents. The two men he shot first were on the ground, neither moving. He guessed Champagne skulked in the next aisle. Suddenly, a massive weight fell on top of Roy, knocking him to the ground. His gun clattered to the floor. Excruciating pain stabbed his right shoulder. “Get up. Hands behind your head,” a deep voice bellowed from behind him. Roy obeyed and the unmistakable barrel of a gun prodded his lower back. He didn’t utter a sound, ignoring the racking shoulder pain. Shoved by his attacker, he rounded the boxes and came face to face with Champagne. The older man’s ice blue eyes raked Roy from head to toe. “You’re a damn kid.” Champagne pointed to his leg, where blood trickled through the hole in his pants. “Is this your work?” “If I’d been closer, the bullet would’ve been between your eyes.” Fury in his expression, Champagne motioned to the agents still captive. “Luke, take care of those three.” He spit on the ground. “This one is mine.” Protect the agents. He hadn’t come this far to lose them now. Luke removed the gun from Roy’s back. In a swift move, Roy stepped sideways, turned, and kicked the gun from Luke’s grip. Punching him in the nose, Roy made certain to break the fragile cartilage. Luke fell against a stack of boxes. “No one touches Luke.” Champagne charged Roy, his meaty fists poised like boxing gloves. The bullet in his leg didn’t even hinder his steps. Roy jumped at the exact moment Champagne’s fist slammed into his gut, so the impact appeared bad, but wasn’t too intense. Doubled over, pretending to be hurt, he grabbed a switchblade from the pocket inside his jacket, and hid it in his uninjured hand—not his dominant hand—but he’d been trained for this contingency. When Champagne came at him again, Roy concentrated on the man’s jugular, flicked the knife open, and thrust with all his might. A choking sound filled the air. Champagne’s stunned eyes deadpanned before he crumpled to the ground. “Dad!” Luke exclaimed. Dad? Shit. Roy kept a gun on Luke as he radioed for backup. The boy sat, blood dripping from the nose, and whispered to his dead father. “I will meet you in the underworld, Father.” Underworld? Did he mean afterworld? The FBI team, who’d been outside waiting, stormed in and took over. The next thing Roy knew, the team had removed Champagne and his men and released the agents, helping each of them onto a gurney. The first agent nodded to Roy while being wheeled out. The second agent asked the men transporting him to stop in front of Roy. “Thank you.” Roy reached out to shake the man’s hand when the pain in his shoulder shrieked. With a grimace, he pulled it back. “The way Luke fell on you, I’m sure it’s dislocated.” Had to be. “Yes, sir.” The third agent’s gurney paused in front of Roy. This man appeared older than the other two. “Kid, this was my last assignment, and for a minute there I expected to die a painful death in this hell pit. I’ve worked undercover sixteen years and never seen a single agent orchestrate a takedown better. How long have you been undercover, son?” “What time is it, sir?” The agent checked his wristwatch. “Five A.M.” “Eighteen hours.” “Hell of a first day.” The man chuckled before being rolled out. Roy sighed with relief. He’d done his job. His actions had been elemental. His skills so methodically fine-tuned, he hadn’t had to think. Instinct took over. “Sir?” He turned toward the voice, his shoulder throbbing with pain. Dressed in full-black combat gear, like Roy, an agent gestured toward the door. “An ambulance is waiting. You should keep your arm stationary until you get to the ER.” Roy clasped his hands together. Slick and wet, the injured hand slipped from his good one. He glanced down at his palms. Blood. Champagne’s blood. Dread jangled through him. I killed a man. I had no choice. Right? Could he have handled the situation differently, so no one was killed? Damn, doubt had no place in this job. And he wasn’t even sure where the doubt came from. He’d gotten the agents out safely. The rescue was a success. But the blood chilled him to the bone. The sound of Champagne choking and the shock in the man’s expression before plummeting to the floor, played like a movie reel in his mind. For the last year, Roy’s intense instruction prepared him for anything and everything that might happen being undercover. He’d known he might have to kill a man. But to actually do it... Fear, regret, and guilt bombarded him. He stared at his trembling hands. Would the blood wash away from under his fingernails? He tried to wipe his hands on his pants to clean them. “Sir?” The agent spoke again. “Let’s get you to a hospital.” He grasped Roy’s good arm and steered him toward the exit. Numb, not even feeling his dislocated shoulder anymore, Roy couldn’t remember his reasons for wanting this career. ~ Dressed in jeans and a sweater from a knapsack he’d brought from D.C., his arm in a canvas sling, Roy exited the sliding doors of St. Luke’s hospital emergency room and found a pay phone outside. “Hansen reporting in.” “I’ll send a car. Are you still at the hospital?” Campo asked. “My arm is back in place.” He hesitated. “I’ll call when I’m ready to be picked up.” Campo must have sensed something was wrong. “You can’t dwell on this. You didn’t have a choice.” Maybe. But that didn’t make it easier. Didn’t make him forget. Didn’t ease the elephant sitting on his chest. “The first one’s always hard. The next time will be easier.” “Easier, sir?” Is that supposed to reassure me? Anger heated his blood. He glanced around making sure no one was in the vicinity. “Killing becomes easier?” “Come in and we’ll—” “I need a few hours to myself.” He slammed the phone on the receiver. Probably a stupid move for a rookie, but he didn’t care. A female hospital worker in scrubs approached the ER entrance. “Can you tell me where the chapel is?” Roy asked. “Oh, sure. It’s on the fifth floor. If you want a bit of privacy, you might check out the roof. It’s a little secret among the staff. I’m sure no one will mind if you go up there.” After taking two steps, she stopped and turned back to him. “And it will bring you closer to God.” Closer to God. Was that what he needed? Or what he feared? “Thank you.” He took the elevator to the top floor and headed up the gray stairwell, his steps echoing in the empty shaft. The door to the roof was stuck, but one heavy push with his good shoulder, and it opened. Dusk had begun to fall, leaving orange trails staining the sky. A dozen white chaise lounge chairs, like people put around their swimming pools, formed a circle facing each other. A large canopy covered half the roof, and under it sat vending machines and a small dinette table with a radio on top. Roy ambled to the concrete three-foot high wall surrounding the roof, to the side facing east. The waking night flickered to life across the vast city, causing the skyscrapers in the distance to become outlined phantoms. He hopped up on the wall and sat with his feet hanging over the side. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he wished the air would erase the memory of the morning. During his training, nothing had prepared him for the reality of another man’s blood on his hands, on his clothes, on his soul. A man he’d killed. Once the doctors popped his shoulder back in place, he’d showered for a solid hour. Why had he wanted to do this? What caused him to have this passion to become an FBI agent? He couldn’t recall. As he stared at his clean hands, his vision blurred. He moved his hands out of the way and looked down. The world below came into focus. So far down. Stories down. How far down? “Stupid freakin’ door!” The high-pitched screech came from behind him. He straightened and turned to find…Cinderella?...stumbling through the rooftop door. Dressed in a light-colored gown dragging the ground, spiked heels dangled from her left hand. Most of her hair was pinned to the top of her head, with some dark strands curling around her face. She slammed the door closed and beat it with her palms. Damn, that must hurt. After a minute, she collapsed against the door and began to melt to the ground. “It would be a shame to ruin your dress,” he said, trying not to startle her, but wanting her to realize she wasn’t alone. Her head jerked up, and she flattened her back against the door. “I thought I was the only one up here.” She sniffed and pinched her nose, undoubtedly to stop the tears. He scooted around, jumped from the wall, and approached her slowly. “I’ll leave.” “You don’t have to.” Even with the darkness of the night sky, he made out her brown hair. But distinguishing her eye color proved impossible—they were too shadowed. High cheekbones and a small nose made him wish for full daylight to see her better. From what he could see, she was a babe. Or maybe the fairy tale thing appealed to him. “I’m Roy.” “Summer Henderson. I’m sorry you had to witness my breakdown.” “It was a good one.” A half-smile tipped her lips. “Want to tell me what has you upset?” he asked. “My father had a heart-attack.” “I’m sorry.” “Me, too.” Tears filled her eyes like black glimmering pools. “My mother used to be a nurse and my brother is in med school, so they’re watching the surgery from an observation room. I tried to stay with them…” She sniffed. “But the sounds of the heart monitor and breathing machine creeped me out.” “Is this his first heart-attack?” “Yes. It’s weird, he’s actually healthy. He’s a doctor here at St. Luke’s. Runs every day.” “Then he’s got a good chance.” “You’re right. It’s just…he’s my dad.” Summer started across the expanse of the roof to where he’d watched the night come alive. He followed her. “You’re awfully dressed up, unless you’re a fairy tale come to life.” “I had a sorority costume ball tonight.” She spun around and curtsied. “I’m Lady Kitty Pakenham.” Perhaps talking would take her mind off her father, and his mind off what happened at the warehouse. He bowed, clasping his bum arm close to his body. “My lady.” “I’m currently engaged to The Earl of Enniskillen.” She lifted from the curtsy. “But I will eventually wed The Duke of Wellington and live a miserable life.” “Not much to look forward to.” “As I understand, I have two sons and adopt more children. Something wonderful must come from the children.” “Or you’ll be even more miserable.” She grinned. “You might be right.” Her eyes scanned the skyline. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” “Yes.” His gaze was on her instead of the city. Her profile was delicate, and in the glow of the city lights, her lips glistened with gloss. “Where’s your escort for the night?” “We planned to meet at the dance. He’s my date, but totally interested in my roommate. All the guys are. I can’t blame them though, she’s beautiful.” She could give any girl a run for her money in the beauty department. He leaned his good elbow against the concrete wall next to hers. “What happened to your arm?” she asked quietly. How to explain? He’d been taught a lot about how to stretch the truth and how to downright lie. But for some reason, he didn’t want to lie to this girl. Since she was still in college, she couldn’t be much younger than his twenty-three years. “Work injury.” “You need a new job.” He nodded. “Probably.” “Does your arm hurt?” It’s numb. I’m numb. “Not really. I dislocated my shoulder. The doctors popped it back into socket.” “Ouch.” “Summer?” a nurse, dressed in white from her hat to her shoes, called from the doorway. “I’m over here, Jasmine.” “Your mom wanted me to check on you and tell you the surgery is going well.” “Oh, okay. Thanks.” “We’ll let you know when he’s out.” The nurse, who hadn’t entered all the way onto the roof, disappeared. Summer’s features were etched with fear and worry. Compelled to help her, Roy said, “I’ll tell you what. The nurse said she’d bring you news, right? Until you know more, don’t dwell on your dad’s surgery. There’s nothing you can do. So right now, you need to have positive thoughts of your father and…” He winked. “Me.” “You’re full of yourself.” He placed the hand of his uninjured arm over his heart. “You wound me, my lady.” She smirked and he could tell she understood he was trying to distract her. “Are you hungry? I’m starved.” He hadn’t eaten since before boarding the plane last night. One glimpse of the hospital food the nurse served him earlier made his stomach turn. Everything he’d thought about until ten minutes ago made him sick. Had Summer made all that go away? Nah, he must be recovering from the shock. This first time in the field made him question right from wrong, life and death. He needed a distraction as much as she did. “The cafeteria’s closed.” She pointed to the canopy. “We can find something in the machines.” Three vending machines provided sodas, chips, and candy. They munched on the junk food while Summer spoke about her classes at the University of Houston and explained the dance tonight was with a fraternity. “Did you go to college?” she asked. “I graduated from UCLA last summer.” Fixated on finishing, he’d known what he planned to do with his life afterward. Roy got up to throw their trash away and flicked on the radio. Soft music filled the air. Summer walked over to the door and flipped a switch on the wall causing hundreds of Christmas lights to twinkle around the canopy. “They’re a nice touch.” He still wanted to get a good look at her eyes, but the blinking lights weren’t bright enough to reveal their color. They sat on the chaise chairs and spoke of their childhoods. Summer shared about her brother and parents. Roy explained he was an only child. Hospital staff came and went, some recognized Summer and offered comforting words, others reported her mother sent them to tell her the progress of the surgery. She accepted their words with a pained smile. Although the night wasn’t cold, just slightly cool, he noticed Summer shiver while they chatted. “Why don’t you sit with me?” he said. “It’s a bit early for intimacies, my lord.” She shook a finger at him. “Nonsense, my lady. This is the perfect time and the perfect place. Almost everyone here knows you, so I won’t try anything…” He slightly lifted his arm with the sling. “Even if I could.” She frowned. “Use me for the body heat, Summer. If I was going to make a move, I’d have done it by now.” With a smile, she jumped up and settled next to him. Instantly, he regretted the invitation. Her body pressed next to his felt too good. Too right. Her perfume, an alluring vanilla scent, swirled in the air around them. “This is much better.” Snuggled close, she rested her head on his shoulder. Gently playing with his fingers sticking out from the sling, she said, “I’ve never been this comfortable with a guy before. Well, except my dad and brother.” She twisted sideways and her gaze caught his. “Is this what they call a connection or am I comfortable with you because you’ve helped me tonight?” Her eyes must be brown, but he still wasn’t sure. Damn the darkness. “Both maybe.” Huddled together, they spoke of boyfriends and girlfriends, politics, religion, and decided sports was off limits—their associations with their home teams too strong for either of them to be objective. The night passed in a blink. Close to dawn, a man dressed in scrubs entered the roof and neared their chair. Summer stiffened and scooted closer to Roy. “Your father’s out of surgery. He should make a full recovery.” “Oh, thank God.” She hopped up from the chair and hugged the man. “Is he awake?” “Not yet. Your mother is with him.” “Thank you, Dr. Shipley.” Roy had stood when Summer did. After watching the doctor leave, she ran to Roy—her face beaming. Pleased everything worked out with her dad, he hugged her as close as possible with the sling. “How can I ever thank you for distracting me?” The sun peeked over the horizon and “Angel Eyes” by the Jeff Healy Band began on the radio. “Dance with me.” “What about your arm?” He slipped the sling off and threw the fabric on a chair. “It’s fine,” he lied. An ache had replaced the numbness, and he didn’t care. He wanted to hold her close. “I guess I do owe you.” She giggled. Happy. Carefree. Sentiments he’d given up by joining the Bureau. He placed his hurt arm at her waist, to keep it partially immobile. Holding one of her hands in his, against his chest, he glided across the cement roof. Summer kept up with him and matched his every step. “You’re a great dancer,” she said. With a dance-instructor as a mother, he’d better be. “So are you.” Holding her, he felt somehow gratified having helped her tonight. Then he remembered why he joined the FBI. To make the world safer for people like Summer. To make a difference. He’d known from a young age law enforcement was his calling, but wasn’t exactly sure of his path until taking a criminal justice class in college. After meeting an undercover FBI agent, and hearing the agent speak of the work—the unpredictability, the rush, the fulfillment—Roy knew he’d found his niche. His dad, an L.A. cop, also swayed Roy. Chest swelling, he realized his dad would have been proud of his performance in that warehouse. Near the end of the song, Summer gazed up at him. With the waking sun’s glare, her eyes appeared to be a color he’d never seen before. “You have violet eyes.” She snorted. “They’re brown. Very boring brown. The sun must be playing tricks on you. And me too, because I’ve never seen brown eyes with so much gold in them.” “Now you’re copying me,” he said, but knew his eye color was distinctive. He’d been told he’d need to wear contacts while undercover and dye his blond hair. Distinguishing traits should never describe a covert agent. She hugged him. “I would never have survived this evening without you.” Me, either. Memories of what happened with Champagne and his men would have haunted him until…. “Happy to be of service. You should go check on your dad and family.” “I know.” She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. Not daring to deepen the kiss, he closed his eyes to savor the cool touch of those lips he’d been aching to taste. “Thank you,” her supple mouth whispered against his. She left, her dress dragging behind her. Repositioning the sling on his arm, he stepped to the concrete wall. Sun glinted off the buildings, shining like a blessing from heaven. Minutes later, someone shoved forcefully against the door, but it didn’t open. “Roy?” Summer’s voice called. He rushed to hide behind a vending machine, still able to see the roof. The door burst open and Summer stumbled forward. After a quick glance around, she returned to the chair they’d sat in and plopped down facing away from him. “Where’d he go?” The need to go to her overwhelmed him. But he didn’t move. This wasn’t his reality. Undercover work didn’t allow for the intricacies of a relationship, there were too many variables. He wouldn’t leave a girlfriend at home waiting for him to return—or not. Summer rose and picked up her shoes. She lifted her face to the sky, as if in prayer. The blaze of the sun’s rays haloed her body. In that instant, and forevermore, he’d think of her as his angel. She’d saved him from dwelling on the horrors of the life he’d chosen, and shifted his focus to the positive aspects of the path he was destined to follow. After the door thumped behind her, Roy settled in their chair, and looked up. Thank you for sending her. He left the fantasy of the rooftop, reached the same phone he’d used earlier, and dialed Campo’s number. “You can send someone to get me, sir. I’m in the ER parking lot at St. Luke’s.” Campo sounded relieved. “Last we talked you were upset. There are people who can help.” Roy smiled. No one more than his violet-eyed angel. ~~~ I hope you enjoyed VIOLET-EYED ANGEL and I really appreciate your download. If you enjoyed this prologue, please check out the excerpt of ANGEL EYES (Book 3 ~ Undercover Intrigue Series) below. Find out more about me and my other books at my website. Drop me an email if you get a chance, I’m always interested in meeting new friends. Next are excerpts from ANGEL EYES (Book 3), EYES OF JADE (Book 2), and DON’T LET IT SHOW (Book 1) of my Undercover Intrigue Series. ANGEL EYES Undercover Intrigue Series ~ Book 3 Excerpt Jimenez, the skinny bastard, rattled a set of handcuffs in Roy’s face. “Boss insists you wear these.” Any other time, any other job, any other person demanding such an asinine request, FBI agent Roy Hansen would walk out. But he’d agree to anything at this point—the thorough strip search he’d endured minutes ago a testament to that. A year undercover near Hades’ drug operation and he’d never even caught a glimpse of the elusive, powerful drug lord. Roy held his hands out in front of him. Jimenez, Hades’ right hand man, shook his head. “Behind your back.” Son-of-a-bitch. He turned his back to Jimenez and slid his hands behind him like he heard the request every day. At the click of the handcuffs snapping around his wrists, he almost felt trapped. Almost. But the undetectable wire in his ear and camera on the top button of his shirt ensured him backup would witness everything. Agents were positioned around the Miami mansion, listening and watching, ready to break in when Hades showed up to initiate Roy into his drug ring. The kilo of cocaine he’d been instructed to bring was on the red velvet bench behind him. This transaction would finally nail Hades on drug charges. The FBI had raided ten drug rings in Miami the last two months and suppliers were scarce. Word on the street was that Hades’ distributors couldn’t keep up with the demands for crack, snow, ecstasy, ice, or primos—the hottest drug of choice on the streets—a marijuana joint laced with cocaine. Hades needed Roy and the drugs he dealt. But first, Roy had to go through this initiation. He’d heard no rumors of what it entailed, and honestly, had no intention of finding out. When Hades showed up, backup would storm in and arrest him. “Boss will enter when he’s ready.” Jimenez, his expensive suit loose on his tall body, snatched up the cocaine and strode out the door. Roy sat on the bench where the drugs had been while two watchdogs, Juan and Miguel, reclined in black leather chairs. This room, the study, had white shag carpet, red walls, and a desk made from black stone. Over the fireplace hung a replica of C.F. Holbeck’s famous marble relief, The Abduction of Persephone. Driving a chariot pulled by a team of horses, Hades, an expression of enchantment on his face, snaked his arm around Persephone. A mirror took up the wall across from Roy. Other pictures about the room depicted black horses, overflowing treasure chests, and a mural of a three legged-dog—all symbols of the mythical god Hades. A tableside lamp provided the only illumination, which suited Roy fine. He always worried bright lights might reveal too much—like the green contacts shading his light-brown eyes or the long brown wig he wore. He’d been using this disguise on another assignment when he met Jimenez and learned of Hades’ operation. To help camouflage his eyes, he also wore black rim glasses, and even though he’d grown his hair out and an FBI team of makeup artists dyed it the same color as the hairpiece, they could never get his hair to look the same. So he continued to wear the damned wig. The men discussed a UFC fight that had been televised the night before, then had a lengthy debate on boxing versus ultimate fighting. A beep sounded. Miguel pulled a phone out of his coat pocket. Something’s wrong. Hades never permitted cell phones on his property, not even his own men were allowed to carry them. Everyone knew of the man’s obsession with security. Juan scrambled out of his chair and pulled a gun from his shoulder holster, pointing it at Miguel. “What the fuck are you doing?” Miguel ignored him and punched buttons on the phone, clearly texting. What the hell? Uneasy pulses flashed through Roy’s veins. He stood. Instantly, the guard dogs flanked him and jammed their guns into his temples. Miguel dropped his phone. “Take it easy, guys. I’m just stretching.” “Sit your ass down.” Miguel dug the barrel of his gun deeper into Roy’s flesh. Reviewing his options, he only came up with two. Sit down and wait for backup or stay standing and wait. “What’s keeping your boss?” He tried to buy time, hopefully giving the cavalry time to bust in. Backup should have a good view of his situation because the camera on his shirt was pointed at the mirror across from him. Did two men pointing guns at him warrant their intervention? Since the guns were at his head, Roy thought so. An eerie prickling slithered down his spine. Over the years, he’d learned to listen to his inner voice and right now it screamed, Get out! He couldn’t wait for reinforcements. If you take the man on the right, God, I’ll take the one on the left. The last twenty years he’d made more deals than he cared to remember. Some with God, but most with devils. Living, breathing demons. He checked the reflection in the mirror. Miguel, on his right, stood even with Roy. Juan, his black eyes hard and unblinking, loomed four inches taller to his left. He studied Juan in the mirror and noticed a tremor in his hand holding the gun. Good. “Sit down.” Miguel snarled. “Fine, I’ll sit. Don’t get your balls in a knot.” You’ve got the right, God. Roy ducked, as if preparing to sit back down, but turned left and head-butted Juan in the groin instead. The man staggered backwards, arms flailing. A blast erupted over Roy’s head. He quickly glanced over his shoulder to find Miguel sprawled on the floor, blood spurting through his white shirt. When he spun back, Juan was staring at Miguel in disbelief. Roy body-slammed Juan, pinning him to the floor. For half a second, they were face to face. Juan growled and struggled to point his gun at Roy. Roy shifted his weight and bit Juan’s hand. The thug yelped, popped his wrist, and dropped the weapon. The door burst open. “Miami PD.” Miami PD? What the hell? Roy rolled to his side on top of Juan’s gun. “Watch out!” someone yelled. What now? Roy twisted to his back. Juan crouched over him, arm pulled back. The blade of a knife flashed. EYES OF JADE Undercover Intrigue Series~ Book 2 Excerpt Jake jolted awake in a cold sweat, his pulse pounding in his ears. The beeping of his cell phone registered. He pressed his face into the pillow and concentrated on inhaling deep breaths. Five years and he still couldn’t escape the nightmare: the images of her beaten body, the metallic scent of blood, and the terror that squeezed his heart like a tourniquet. His phone beeped again. He rolled over and grabbed it off the nightstand. “Jake Dane.” “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.” The first gray haze of morning filtered through the blinds. “I’m on vacation.” “Not anymore.” The line clicked dead. With a glance at the empty space beside him, a familiar twinge tightened in his chest. No time to dwell, he rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, hair still wet, he slid into the passenger side of the unmarked Mercury Sable. “This better be good.” His partner, Stewart Rainey, hit the gas and raced down the street. Jake waved to his neighbor, who was in his robe and slippers, dragging a trash can to the curb. Rain clouds dipped low in the sky, a promising relief from the stifling Houston heat. “No coffee?” Jake grumbled. “We’ll stop on the way. Nothing with a smell is tolerated at my house. Peg’s miserable and still claims it’s my fault.” “You did get her pregnant.” “Vasectomies are supposed to work.” Jake grinned. “Maybe you should’ve gotten that last checkup.” “I did, we just hadn’t gotten the results. It’s a crime when a man can’t make love to his wife without using a fucking condom. No pun intended.” Stewart checked his rearview mirror. “But I don’t remember her morning sickness being this bad with the other two.” Traffic crawled bumper to bumper in the heart of the city, even at six-thirty in the morning. Jake’s phone vibrated, and he fished it out of his pocket. Sam, his ex-partner, was calling—no doubt worried Jake would spend the day alone. Jake didn’t answer, but texted him instead. And before she called, he texted his mother. She’d be relieved he wasn’t at the beach house watching waves crash to the shore. Taking vacation on this day each year and spending it at the beach had become his ritual. Stewart exited the highway and hung a right at the first corner. The road transformed into a quiet street lined by massive oaks and dense foliage. A quarter mile down the street, a metal gate was open with police officers and vehicles surrounding the entrance. Squad cars’ red lights flashed in the morning gloom. Stewart rolled down his window and flashed his badge to the officers, then parked on the asphalt drive inside the fence. On the other side of fire engines and more police cars, the rubble of a warehouse smoldered. Portions of the gray building remained two to three feet high around the ruins. Everything charred in black soot. By the overgrown grass and weeds, he guessed the place hadn’t been used in years. Firefighters lingered around the perimeter of the property, their coats open, some still in black helmets. A few folded hoses onto the trucks. A man in a blue pinstriped suit strode from the back of the property. Kirk McDermott, with his side-parted brown hair and spit-shined loafers, was as straight-laced an agent the FBI had to offer. McDermott shook hands with Stewart, then Jake. “I’m the case agent.” “Why are we here?” Jake asked. McDermott reached inside his coat and pulled out a small clear evidence bag. Inside was a soup can size spool with a hook on the top. Stewart whistled. “That’s a triggered spark gap.” Innocent enough when used to ignite electrical shock waves to break up kidney stones, the device could also be used to detonate a nuclear bomb. “It was on the front steps.” McDermott frowned. “With a note.” He held out another baggie which had a piece of paper with one word written on it. BOOM. “Why is this familiar?” Stewart asked softly, mostly to himself. Nothing about this was familiar to Jake. He pulled his camera from his coat pocket and took pictures of the device and note. “Someone intentionally torched the warehouse, but we don’t know if it’s a random or deliberate act against the owner.” McDermott hesitated. “There’s more. Last week a non-profit organization purchased the place. The only executive on the organization’s records is Eve Knight.” Stewart stiffened. “The Eve Knight?” “One and the same.” Stewart’s face lit up. His wife loved Hollywood gossip. Jake cringed. That’s all he needed—a spoiled-ass actress with an attitude. “Has anyone contacted Ms. Knight or is she in this debris?” “She cancelled a private flight to Bush Intercontinental last night, but caught the earliest commercial flight from L.A. this morning. She’s due to land in Houston within the hour.” McDermott’s brown eyes were hard, like he’d seen everything in life and nothing surprised him anymore. “Would she have done this for the insurance money?” Jake asked. “Records show she paid in cash and insured it for the exact amount of the purchase, so it’s doubtful.” McDermott placed the triggered spark gap and note back in his pocket. “You need to intercept Ms. Knight, inform her about the warehouse, and bring her in for questioning. And that won’t be easy since she’s on a commercial flight.” Jake didn’t follow Hollywood, but no one missed Eve Knight’s picture on the cover of magazines in every grocery store, or her movie trailers, or the ridiculous stories about her on TV and the news. Not to mention reruns of the sitcom Raising Trudy. She’d starred on the show as a young girl. McDermott checked his watch. “You better head out. We’ve talked to the airlines and asked them to keep her on the plane until you arrive.” Great, they’d have to deal with airport security. This day got better and better. On the way to the airport, Stewart chattered like a schoolgirl, “I’ve read quite a bit about Eve. They say she’s a nice person. Her fans love her.” “You can’t believe everything you read.” Stewart ignored Jake’s remark and slapped the steering wheel. “Wait until I tell Peg. She won’t believe Eve Knight is in Houston.” Jake rolled his eyes. “Will she be as excited as you?” “What’s up your ass?” “I’m supposed to be on vacation, away from this shit.” “The real reason.” One thing about partners, they sensed things others couldn’t. “If this was a random arson, why would someone leave a triggered spark gap and a note?” ~ “Oh my God, it’s Eve Knight.” Eve flinched as she grabbed her phone and considered ignoring the lady, but she didn’t want to appear rude. Because she wasn’t rude, no matter what the Hollywood rags wrote about her. Why had the flight attendant asked her to wait for an escort? The last time she’d flown commercial, she’d been instructed to get off the plane first. Giving into the inevitable, she dropped her phone into her purse, not having turned it on yet. With the flick of her hand, the scarf fell from around her hair to her neck, and she took off her sunglasses. She rose and faced the passengers exiting. On this huge a plane, the door was behind the seats in first class, so she’d hoped to avoid the travelers since they wouldn’t pass in the aisle. No such luck. A red-haired woman gasped and slapped the arm of the man beside her. “I told you.” Her smile was huge and toothy. “Eve, I’m your biggest fan. I can’t believe we rode on the same plane. Are you in Houston for long?” The woman’s enthusiasm was infectious. “I’m not sure. It’s nice to meet you.” Others on the plane bobbed their heads and craned their necks to get a glimpse of her. The woman squealed. “Oh, Eve, can I get a picture with you?” That photo led to at least ten other pictures with people Eve had never met and would never meet again. How many of these people believed what the press reported and wrote about her? Did they trust the media’s version of her life—which had little to do with her real life? As a child, her stepfather sheltered her from the vultures. But in her late teens, her emotions see-sawed with every piece of gossip she heard and read. Finally, in her twenties, after her divorce and rehab, she realized nothing written or reported in the media was worth worrying over. It didn’t define her. With the passengers gone, Eve gathered her purse and computer bag. Two men charged onto the plane, flashing their badges. She recognized the FBI insignia having played an agent in one of her movies. She’d even worked with actual agents to make her character more realistic. “Hello, Ms. Knight. My name is Stewart Rainey and this is Jake Dane. We’re from the local FBI office.” Stewart Rainey. Jake Dane. Eve studied each man and repeated the names five times in her head. The trick her agent taught her as a child had come in useful her whole life. She rarely forgot a name. The men were of a similar build, both around six feet, but their likeness ended there. The one who spoke, Stewart Rainey, had happy blue eyes, his blond hair in a flat-top, and dressed in slacks with a blazer. Jake Dane had solemn green eyes, a deep tan, and brown hair much longer than his partner’s—almost touching his collar. He wore well-fitted jeans, a polo with a white t-shirt underneath, and a sports jacket strained over his broad shoulders. “Can you tell me what this is about?” she asked. Agent Rainey gestured to her computer bag and held out his hand. “An incident occurred at the property you bought here in Houston.” She passed him the bag. “An incident? At the warehouse?” “We’ll explain on the way to the property.” “Thank you.” If she’d arrived on schedule last night, a limo would have been waiting in a private hanger, but this morning she’d expected to hail a taxi. The car she purchased last week was at the apartment she’d rented. She followed in Agent Rainey’s wake, hoping to get out of the airport without too much interference. Agent Dane, who stayed at her side, scowled. He stepped between her and the crowd when eager fans ran up. “Please, let us through. Ms. Knight is late for an appointment.” While she waved, she whispered under her breath, “It’s easier if I acknowledge them. Trust me. I’ve dealt with this my whole life.” She faced the crowd. Camera bulbs flickered like strobe lights in the darkened terminal. Even though it was eight in the morning, the dismal weather outside cast an ominous drape over the day. As she took a step to skirt the agent and reached for an outstretched pen, she felt her upper arm being grasped. Again, Agent Dane positioned his body between her and the crowd. “Sorry, folks. Ms. Knight is late.” She waved as he rushed her away from the fans, his grip not crushing, but firm—very firm. Why was he in such a rush? Her name rang out often, but the agents hurried her through the corridors. She’d been in the limelight since the age of six, and although a nuisance, she had a certain responsibility to the fans. They were the ones who bought the tickets, the ones who—in essence—paid her salary. She respected that and respected them. Now the people she just dissed might call her a snob, or claim she was too good to give them the time of day. “You didn’t do me any favors back there.” “I’m not here to do favors.” Agent Dane’s voice sounded like a growl. She stopped and twisted from his hold, fed up with his cloak and dagger routine. “Why are you here?” The agents each reached for her arms. “Don’t you dare. You won’t drag me out of here like I’ve done something wrong.” DON’T LET IT SHOW Undercover Intrigue Series ~ Book 1 Excerpt “We find the defendant guilty.” Attorney Abigail Martin summoned all her self-restraint to keep her breathing steady and her head high while the judge thanked the jury. The final strike of the gavel started a pounding in her head. The bailiff handcuffed her client, Damien West, and led him away. But not before Gail met his tortured gaze and saw the anguish, the torment, the unmistakable innocence in his eyes. Verdict rendered, the courtroom emptied quickly. Lives were altered daily in these Houston courtrooms, yet the venue never changed—same wooden benches, same massive judges’ desks, and the same scent of lemon polish. She turned to Conrad Sanders. “You have to file for an appeal.” “Let it go, Gail.” “Whoever set up West did an incredible job incriminating him. He didn’t murder Austin Armstrong.” “Then who did?” Since he’d been forced to take over Gail’s position as lead counsel on this case, Conrad never indicated whether he believed in West’s innocence. The expression in his hazel eyes and the tone of his voice never changed. He remained detached. If only she could do the same. “I don’t know. We must have missed something.” “What could we have missed? Two eyewitnesses gave West’s description.” He threw three legal pads into his briefcase. “I’ll talk to West tomorrow about an appeal.” “Can’t you talk to him now?” Conrad grabbed his day planner. “I’m due at the office.” “Then I’ll talk to West.” “No, you won’t.” He pointed the planner at her, his voice perturbed. “You lost the right to stick your nose in this when you jeopardized your law license.” His words beat through her—pum pum pum. Although she’d enjoyed listening to The Little Drummer Boy on the way to work this morning, now it was as if he was in her head and madder than hell. How could she have been so reckless in the courtroom two months ago? Tears battled for position to drop first, but she blinked them back. “Sorry.” Conrad blew out a loud breath. “We both need a little distance from this case. I’ll visit West tomorrow and suggest a couple of lawyers who handle appeals.” She opened her mouth to object, but he said, “Please.” She raised her hands. “Fine.” “Take the rest of the day off.” “I can’t.” “Gail, learn to keep your feelings and personal beliefs separate from this job. I’ve been telling you that since the firm hired you and it hasn’t sunk in yet.” “I’m hardheaded.” “You’re stubborn. Be careful you don’t piss off the partners. Of course, you’ve already proven you’re a pain-in-the-ass, and they love you anyway.” Conrad grinned at her scowl and took off down the center aisle. Before closing her computer, Gail clicked on the e-mail icon. The same message title popped up on the screen numerous times. What’s in a name? Not again. Once a week for the last three months, the annoying e-mail showed up dozens of times. She’d tried replying to the sender, but her e-mails always bounced back, Undeliverable. She read the insistent message. First “a friend” Next the Royal “beloved” Somewhere between is a rightful heir Again revealed at Ketuvim’s end Life is the key The words never changed—total gibberish. Gail slid the laptop into her briefcase and headed out the side entrance where harsh, bright lights lit the pallid hallway. Paul Watterson, Houston’s police chief, hurried toward her. His gray hair windblown and his blue eyes concerned. “I just heard the verdict.” She plopped onto one of the many marble benches positioned throughout the courthouse. “I failed him.” “You didn’t fail anyone.” He sat next to her. A great friend to her mother and like an uncle to her, Paul kept close tabs on Gail. “You can’t even practice law right now.” He wasn’t purposely trying to hurt her, but his words felt like a punch in the stomach. “West’s conviction will never leave my conscience if he doesn’t appeal.” “Lose the conscience, honey. Life will be easier.” “Strange words coming from a man who upholds the law.” “It’s true.” His glib words didn’t fool her. Paul had too much integrity to feel that way. “Don’t you have a big murder case in need of your attention?” “Yes, a police chief’s work never ends. But I wanted to check on you. And to make sure you know the policeman’s ball is in March this year.” “I’m fine. And I didn’t know about the ball. I’ll start shopping for a gown.” Paul knew how much she enjoyed the fancy affair and had taken her as his guest since she turned eighteen. She hugged him before he rushed off and disappeared around the corner. Drawing her phone from her suit coat pocket, she saw a message from her firm’s managing partner and hit the voicemail button. “Gail.” His voice sounded urgent. “They’re ruling on your case today.” Her heart beat in time with her head—pum pum pum. “One o’clock in Judge Jacoby’s courtroom. Call if you need me there for support.” She wouldn’t call him or anyone, she’d gotten into this mess by herself and that’s how she’d face the hearing. Her phone read eleven-fifty—over an hour to wait. If the judges suspended her, how long would it last? A year? Two? Would she lose her job? What if they disbarred her? She’d go nuts if she sat here worrying. On her way down the corridor, she wondered what they’d missed in Damien West’s case. She remembered his innocent, tortured eyes. Suddenly, another set of innocent eyes flashed in her mind. Helplessness pulsed through her, as it had eleven years ago. Her legs wobbled with each step. She stopped and leaned against the wall. A familiar ache shrieked in her soul. The innocent, tormented eyes belonged to the man convicted of her mother’s murder. ~ From a shadowed corner of the Houston courthouse hallway, Sam Newton studied the statue of Lady Justice. He understood the sword she held—the speedy strike of justice. And the blindfold over her eyes—an impartial judge. What mystified him was how she let the scale in her hand so often tilt in the wrong direction. Shouldn’t truth be her guide? Truth. Did anyone care about the truth? He’d been fighting crime since graduating college. Now, at the age of thirty-two, he didn’t believe in the truth or goodness of mankind. He’d witnessed too many crimes, murders, and the downright degradation of humanity. How would Lady Justice treat him after this assignment, especially if truth was a factor? Was his job a good enough reason to shed his scruples and not have any repercussions? No, there would be repercussions. His cell vibrated. “Newton.” “Now maybe the hoopla surrounding West’s case will settle.” Yvonne Delacroix was in no-nonsense agent mode. “Did you make it in time to be in the courtroom for the verdict?” Three men in suits hurried past. “No, but I’ve been standing in the hallway since it adjourned.” “Any familiar faces?” “Alex Franklin, the captain from my precinct. The murder happened in his jurisdiction.” Sam looked out the window at the crowd still gathered on the courthouse steps. “Conrad Sanders just held a press conference.” “What about the assistant?” “Sanders left the courtroom alone, no visual on Abigail Martin yet.” “Well, she…” A commotion broke out across the lobby. “Hold on a second.” He spied two women in a heated conversation. The one dressed in a conservative black suit drew his gaze. She made the slightest move to her right, bringing her into a ray of sun shooting down from the skylight. Her auburn hair the darkest shade of red he’d ever seen. The photos and news footage he’d seen of her didn’t begin to do her, or her hair, justice. Sam spoke quietly into his phone. “I found Abigail Martin.” “You know what to do.” Yvonne disconnected. He kept the phone to his ear. Even with the hustle and bustle of dozens of people scurrying in the foyer, which helped camouflage him, he heard the women. “You let him get convicted.” Miss Martin set down her briefcase. “I only assisted in your husband’s case, Mrs. West.” “But you don’t believe he’s guilty, you told us so.” “No, I don’t believe he murdered Austin Armstrong.” “How could you let this happen?” West’s wife wiped a tear from her mascara-streaked cheek. While the women talked, he scrutinized Abigail Martin. Her frame was small and slender without being skinny. Her black heels jacked her height from five four to five seven. If he didn’t know she was twenty-seven, he’d have guessed a couple of years younger. Mrs. West turned and shuffled down the corridor. Abigail Martin checked her phone and started for the huge glass doors leading to the outside steps. He pocketed his cell and followed, but not closely. She pushed the door wide and was waylaid by reporters. “Miss Martin, what’s your response to the verdict?” “Will there be a petition for appeal?” “Do you still—” The voices grew so loud Sam couldn’t make out what was being said. Miss Martin yanked on the door handle to escape back inside, but the crowd surrounded her, trapping her. “You’ll have to direct your questions to Conrad Sanders,” she shouted. “But you proclaimed West’s innocence,” a reporter yelled. “Do you still believe he’s not guilty?” “My view hasn’t changed.” “But he admitted to dealing drugs.” “Just because—” Sam pushed the door, bumping a couple of reporters out of the way, and grasped Miss Martin’s arm. She seemed stunned as he drew her inside and down the hallway. Yards from the door, she jerked from his grasp. “Why did you do that?” He couldn’t tell her, to shut you up, so he waved toward the door he’d pulled her through. “You’re welcome.” “Look, Officer…” she squinted at his nametag. “Newton.” “Officer Newton, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Her brown eyes flashed with anger. “You call that taking care of yourself? You were cornered like a rat.” She hesitated, her anger transforming into a frown creasing her brow. He felt like a heel. It wasn’t her fault West’s conviction was important to his assignment. She just happened to be caught in the crossfire. “I was doing fine with the press.” Her entire body wilted. “But to be honest, they’re not my responsibility.” “Then now is a good time to thank me for rescuing you.” “I didn’t ask you to rescue me.” “Think of me as your guardian angel.” Her lips twitched before she slid a scowl back into place. “Guardian angels come with wings and halos, Officer Newton.” He leaned forward, his voice soft, as if telling her a secret, “Not all of us.”