The Hart Brothers Series Box Set (Including the bonus book Sabin: A Seven Novel): Freeing Her, Freeing Him, Kestrel, The Fall and Rise of Kade Hart, Sabin: A Seven Novel

by A. M. Hargrove

  Every. Single. Night.

  I was going to have rise above my hatred to maintain my professionalism and help this enemy of mine, unless I strangled him with my bare hands first.

  Surviving Pearson West could be the greatest challenge I ever faced.

  KESTREL

  A Hart Brothers Novel, Book Three

  Kestrel

  Copyright © 2015 A.M. Hargrove

  All rights reserved.

  Published by A.M. Hargrove

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in form or any manner whatsoever by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or a book review. Scanning, uploading and distribution of the book via the Internet or via any other means without permission is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support for the author’s rights is appreciated. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at annie@amhargrove.com

  Cover by Shanoff Designs

  For Carter …

  This book is dedicated to those who fight the battle against cancer every day. It is also dedicated to those who have won that battle and to all those who have not been so fortunate. Though you are no longer here, you will forever live on in our hearts.

  One — Carter

  October 2010

  It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. Not like that. It all went wrong. Terribly wrong. How could the meteorologists have been so off target? My family was supposed to be fine. My father was great with these kinds of things. He knew about them. He knew. He was a sailor, for Pete’s sake. He had all that stupid equipment at the beach house. He would track those things incessantly, like a kid following his favorite baseball player. But he didn’t know … couldn’t have known. No one knew. Not even NOAA. It took everyone by surprise. Most of all, me.

  God, how I wish it had all played out differently … how I wish my mother hadn’t urged me to go.

  “Honey, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. This will catapult your career. Genetic engineering is your love. You can’t pass up a chance to attend this seminar at Duke. Only a handful of students in the world are invited. You have to go,” my mother had insisted.

  “But Ells,” I said.

  My mother scoffed. “What? I can’t take care of my grandbaby for a week while you’re away? It’s not like I don’t babysit for her on a daily basis as it is.”

  Guilt flooded me, though. It was my fall break … a chance for me to spend some quality time with my little girl. My nose was in the books most of the time and I rarely had a spare minute to play with my daughter.

  “I know,” I moaned. “But I want to be with her, too.”

  “Carter, listen to me. When I found out you were pregnant, I never thought you’d make it to this point. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel now. You’re on your way, honey. One day soon, you’ll have that coveted Ph.D. and the hard work will have been worth it. I am so proud of you. This is one short week. It’ll be Thanksgiving before you know it and you’ll have a few days off, and then Christmas will be here. Ells will be all yours then. This invitation you’ve gotten is huge. Don’t pass this up, baby.”

  “Oh, Mom. I never knew it would be this hard.”

  My mother hugged me. What I didn’t know— couldn’t have known—was that urging me to go was the worst thing she could have possibly done for me.

  I took my mother’s advice and went to the seminar. It was on genetic engineering, specifically in the oncogene, which is my area of interest. Yes, I am a geek … a scientist or whatever you want to call me. I study cancer using mice that have been genetically altered making them susceptible to invasive cancer cells. And no, I do not believe it is cruel. What I do believe, however, is that it’s cruel to see children suffering from devastating illnesses. If I can, in some way, make headway against those atrocious diseases by studying them in the oncomouse, then so be it. I really don’t give a fuck what the mice savers of the world think. My lifetime goal is to be a child saver and to, hopefully, find a cure for cancer.

  However, by going to that specific seminar, and reveling in scientific geekdom for a week, I ended up being a child killer. My own. Because had I stayed home, I would have insisted that Ells get off Sullivan’s Island that day. I never would have taken that risk. And Ells, along with my parents, would be alive today.

  It was the beginning of October and the storm that was brewing was only a Category One hurricane. It had formed off the coast of Cape Verde as a low-pressure system, wobbling its way across the Atlantic. When it hit the Caribbean Sea, it gained strength and developed into a tropical storm. By the time it made it to the Bahamas, it was a hurricane. No one, not even NOAA or the National Hurricane Center, was greatly concerned about it because all the tracking information had led everyone to believe that it would remain at either Category One status or be downgraded back to a tropical storm. Charleston, South Carolina was its target, and Charlestonians were well versed in hurricane preparedness. After all, they were Hurricane Hugo survivors. They took all storms seriously.

  But this one fooled everyone. The predictions had the storm making landfall during the day at low tide. However, something dreadful happened that changed everything. A low-pressure system that had rapidly developed over the Bahamas collided with this storm, turning it into a monstrosity. The waters of the still-warm southern Atlantic only fed this beast, and it grew into a Category Five, gaining speed and strength overnight until it slammed into the coast of South Carolina, catching everyone by surprise. Evacuations were still taking place before emergency preparedness had to close off bridges and turn people around. Roads were crammed with cars trying to escape impending doom. The hurricane hit at high tide, bringing with it a thirty-five-foot storm surge and leaving behind a swath of death and destruction that left the coastline and state numb with shock and despair.

  My seminar had occupied most of my waking moments, so I hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to the news or weather. But on the morning of the storm, talk was running rampant. My phone was useless. “All circuits are busy,” was the recording I kept receiving. Panic ripped through me. Surely they left the island. They wouldn’t take any risks, not with Ells staying with them.

  Later that morning my phone rang. It was my mother.

  “Carter, listen to me.”

  “Mom! I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where are you?”

  “Listen to me, Carter. I don’t have much time. The cell towers are jammed and this call may drop any second. Write this down quickly. Do you have paper and pen?”

  “Yes.” I quickly grabbed both.

  “10-21-57-3-28-88. Do you have that?”

  “Yeah. Mom, what is it?”

  “That’s the combination to the safe in our closet on Murray Boulevard. Inside you’ll find a copy of our will, one hundred thousand dollars in cash, and all of my jewelry.”

  “Why all the cash?”

  “No time to explain. Carter, in all likelihood, we’re not going to make it.”

  “What are you saying?” Her statement confused me.

  “The storm. We’re on the northern front of it. The eye is going to pass just south of us. That means we’re going to take the brunt of the surge.”

  Oh, Jesus. God, no.

  “You stayed? You stayed on Sullivan’s?” I was instantly sick. My body violently shook. Shock. I went into shock as my ass hit the chair behind me.

  “We didn’t know, Carter. They had it a
ll wrong. We never would’ve stayed had we known. I’m so sorry, baby. I love you so much. We all love you so much.”

  A loud buzzing filled my ears and then a high keening. Someone yelled out my name, but I can’t recall who. That’s all I remember. And that’s the last conversation I had with my mother.

  No one was allowed on the islands around Charleston for days. It was presumed that there were broken gas lines and possible live electrical lines, though I doubted that because all the main electrical trunk lines had been knocked down by either wind or water. The National Guard did thorough searches of all barrier islands and declared there were no survivors. It was official. My parents and daughter—my entire family—had perished in the storm.

  There were very few homes left standing, and what remained were husks that I imagined a post World War II town in Europe to look like. Nothing but the skeletal remains and bone fragments of what were once fine and stately oceanfront homes. A wall here and there, odd pieces of furniture scattered around, most of it pushed against whatever remained standing, as it had been shoved by the wall of water that crashed onto shore. I walked the island from end to end, looking for some sign, but there wasn’t a single thing that remained from my parent’s home. Nothing. It was all gone, chewed up by the sea that came to claim them that night.

  My mother had been wrong after all. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. There never would be for me. From this day forward, I would live in darkness, alone, without my parents and without my sweet baby Ells.

  Two — Kestrel

  Present Day

  “You’re sure about this?” Gabby asks.

  Turning around, I face my sister-in-law and smile. It’s difficult because what I’d like to do is scream. Instead, I grit my teeth, take a deep breath, and then say, “Gabby, I’m a grown man. If anyone knows, I do.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Yes, I do. My well-meaning sister-in-law is worried about me. And rightly so. She knows how fucked up my past is. She’s also a psychiatrist, so it’s ingrained in her.

  “I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I spent over two months—alone—hiking the Appalachian Trail. Were you worried about me then?”

  She punches me in the shoulder. Not hard, but enough to get my attention.

  “I was worried to death. Ask Kolson.”

  “Ask me what?” my brother asks as he enters the kitchen where Gabby and I are standing.

  “Wasn’t I worried about Kestrel when he was on that crazy backpacking trip?”

  “Aw, hell, don’t even get her started. What brought all this up?”

  I give Kolson the eye.

  “Not this again? I thought we’ve been through all this,” Kolson says as he grabs his wife around the waist.

  “Dozens of times,” I say.

  “Yeah, but I can’t help it.”

  “Listen to me, Gabby. I’m as good as I’m ever gonna be. I’ll always be slightly fucked up. How can I not be after what our father did?”

  Kolson and Gabby both nod.

  “Dr. Hart, put your psychiatrist hat on and listen. I can still be fucked up and function perfectly fine. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Okay, I’ll grant you that. And you’re right. Any one of the things Langston did to you—the cages, withholding contact, keeping you in the dark—would be enough to traumatize you. Add them all up and it would be difficult not to be a little fucked up.”

  “Gabriella, look at me. You know how I am and I deal with it just fine,” Kolson says.

  “True, but you have me to talk to. I worry that when Kestrel leaves, he won’t have anyone.”

  I throw my arms up in the air. “Hello. This is the twenty-first century. Have you heard of cell phones and Face Time? I have your number.”

  Kolson laughs. “She’s stubborn, bro.”

  “I am aware, believe me. I’ve sat on the proverbial couch in that office of hers, though I questioned my judgment frequently.”

  “Hey! What does that mean?”

  “What it means, dear sister, is that if you had your way, you would lock me in your apartment and never let me out of your sight.”

  Gabby actually has the good grace to blush.

  “Aha! I’m right!”

  She looks at Kolson and he says, “Don’t get me in the middle of this one. Sorry.”

  “Okay, so I’m overprotective.”

  “Now that we have your admission, can we move forward?”

  She nods.

  “Excellent. So, I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. Kolson, my temporary residence will be that executive apartment your real estate agent found me, but in the mean time I want to look for something to buy. Even if I end up hating Charleston, which I doubt I will, it would be a great investment.”

  My brother is in total agreement with me. I’m moving to Charleston, South Carolina to open up the southern branch of Hart Transportation Services, or HTS, the company my brother started. The headquarters are here in Manhattan, but Kolson thinks we need to expand the business. I worked for our father, Langston, in the casino business until last December. That ended when my father was tragically (or not) killed by my mother to prevent him from shooting Gabby. Suffice it to say my father was an evil man. Kolson left the family business years ago, but I stayed on for various reasons, mainly sick ones.

  Things unraveled after his death and we found out he was involved in all sorts of illegal things—human trafficking, for instance. We knew he was tied to the mob, but we didn’t know the extent of his activities. The FBI dismantled his casino business, Hart Entertainment, and I went to work for my brother after that.

  Gabby suddenly throws her arms around me, catching me off guard. I have this thing about touch. Long story. Her weight sends me backward and we both start to tumble. Kolson sees what’s happening and his quick reflexes save his wife, but I end up busting my ass on the marble floor in the kitchen.

  “Jesus, Gabby. What the hell was that all about?”

  Her sheepish face tells me all I need to know. My ass is going to be purple by tomorrow.

  Kolson only laughs.

  I just shake my head.

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to hug you. I’ll miss you.”

  My head clangs as Kolson helps me up. If I knew moving to Charleston was going to be this much of a pain in the ass, I would’ve thought twice about it. She means well and I do love her, but sometimes, she drives me fucknuts.

  By the look on her face, if I don’t say something, she’ll be in tears. “Of all the people I know, I’ll miss you the most.” I spread my arms out and she steps into my embrace. “You’ve helped me more than anyone I’ve ever known, even Kolson. And that’s saying a lot, Gabby. Thank you.” And that is the truth.

  “If you need me …”

  “I’ll call. Don’t worry. And as soon as I have a house, I want you two to come down.”

  Gabby claps her hands and says, “Maybe we should go with him this week. You know, to help him settle in.”

  Kolson and I say at the same time, “No!”

  She gets the message.

  “Damn, Gabriella, you’re like a mother hen. He’s fine.”

  It’s a gorgeous September afternoon when I step off the private jet. A car meets me on the tarmac and shuttles me to my new office. It’s near the Charleston International Airport, in North Charleston, so the ride is brief. We selected that location to be near the airport and for the land. It’ll be easier for us to have all of our vehicles in one location. Right now, we are bidding for a large chunk of acreage about two miles from here. If our bid is accepted, we’re going to add a large charter jet to accompany our smaller craft. Right now we only use corporate jets. With Charleston’s proximity to Atlanta and Charlotte, we’re in a prime location to secure a variety of business that is untapped thus far.

  It’s almost three-thirty when I get to the office. My secretary, Shayla Drummond, greets me as I enter.

  “Welcome, Mr. Hart.”

  “Shayla.
Nice to see you.”

  The office was set up during my previous visits. Currently, we are running on a staff of four employees. The rest will be hired as new business starts coming in. Jack, Kolson’s right-hand man, has been sending his team out after Kolson has vetted prospective clients. We’re looking at bringing on the Atlanta Falcons, Carolina Panthers, Atlanta Braves, and some smaller businesses. There are some Charleston companies I’ll start researching, but my main goal is to get this office operating as a fully functional business entity.

  “Shayla, when does the new receptionist start?”

  “Monday, sir.”

  “Good. Can you bring me up to speed on everything?”

  She follows me into my office. Shayla is in her late forties, married, and has two kids in college. She’s been an executive assistant for over fifteen years and knows the ropes. I hired her because she won’t mind working long hours and wants the money. I’ll compensate her well for it, too. Looking around my office, I see that she has set everything up to my specifications. The last time we spoke I gave her explicit instructions for where I wanted everything placed. I’m particular about these things, so I’m pleased with the results.

  “Coffee, water, anything to drink, sir?”

  “Coffee, please, and dispense with the sir. Let’s drop the formalities. Call me Kestrel since we’re going to be working together every day.”

  She peruses me for a moment, then gives me a brief nod.

  “Cream, sir?”

  “Black.”

  She hands me the coffee and I take a sip. It’s disgusting.

  “Don’t be offended, but this is shit coffee.”

  Her eyes widen a bit.

  Standing, I ask, “Where’s the brew station?” My intentions are to make a better cup of java than this crap she handed me.