by Taylor Hart
Going Rogue
Book 2 The Real Thing
Taylor Hart
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Additional Works by Taylor Hart
Title Page
Copyright Information
All rights reserved.
© 2015 ArchStone Ink
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. The reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form whether electronic, mechanical or other means, known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the publisher and/or author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This edition is published by ArchStone Ink LLC.
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First eBook Edition: 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation 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.
Created with Vellum
To Christine Kersey…for teaching me to fly!
Chapter 1
The sky had a bleakness to it that represented exactly how Sam Dubois felt. Well, maybe not exactly. If the sky was completely black and devoid of all feeling, it might have come close to representing an ounce of what he felt. The pain in his left side flared as he pulled on the white dress shirt. He looked in the mirror and saw his bloodshot eyes were haunted and dark. He shoved back a pain pill just as the nurse came into his room to give him the last bit of paperwork necessary for his release from the hospital.
“You’re a miracle, Agent Dubois. The whole hospital is talking about it. How that bullet missed everything important… well, no one can figure it out. I hope you find the girl.” Her eyes shimmered with sympathy.
A lump formed in his throat, and he held out a tie to her. It was hard to do anything that required lifting his arm at the moment.
She understood his predicament and quickly arranged his tie. “Your parents are out in the hall waiting for you.” She finished it and looked up at him on the verge of crying. “I’m so sorry about your brother. From what I hear, he was one of the good guys.” She wiped away a round of tears that fell down her cheeks.
Sam nodded and stared into the mirror, not paying attention to the remark that his brother was one of the good guys. He wouldn’t tell her that his brother had raped his girlfriend. One thing was right. His brother had died saving his life. But as of this moment, Sam hadn’t decided how he felt about it. He didn’t have time to decide. Alexa was gone. Alexa had been MIA for two weeks with that psychotic killer, and nothing had been done about it. The nurse helped him with his suit coat. There would only be one thing he thought about today—how to find a gun and then find the woman he loved. “My brother died in the line of duty, and he’ll be honored today. What more could he have asked for?”
The nurse blinked and fixed his buttons for him. “He was a hero.” She said firmly.
Anger stirred in the pit of his gut. He didn’t have time for heroes or funerals.
Chapter 2
Alexa squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the fact that Marco had her chained in the basement of a cellar. She didn’t even know where she was or if her father and Sam were alive or dead.
“Abierto tus hijos.”
She kept her eyes shut. It was Marco’s sister Marsal, the same sister that had worked in Marco’s restaurant back in San Francisco. The one she’d thought was nice and sweet. The one that was now in charge of seeing to her needs and making her ‘comfortable.’ Alexa didn’t open her eyes. She was trying not to eat, not to give an inch, until she got information.
Hands fluttered over her shoulders and Alexa felt a cool washrag wipe down her face, into the nape of her shirt, and around her neck. The cool rag continued on her arms and up to her hands over her head. “I will let you have down time today if you please eat.” Marsal said switching to English.
Alexa’s father had always said she was stubborn as an ox. Then he would follow that comment with ‘and an ox is worse than a mule any day.’ It had never failed to make her grin. Even though she hadn’t been raised doing farm work, her family had settled down in Idaho her Junior year in high school. After her father had purchased a mule, she’d discovered why people used the terms 'ox' and 'mule' to represent stubbornness.
If an ox didn’t want to do the task at hand, no amount of whipping or torture would get them to do that task. Their neighbors had been farmers, old school farmers, and they had an ox named Bessie. Bessie had a mind of her own. She would escape the farm and break down fences and do anything she wanted.
Alexa smiled as she thought of Bessie and all the time she had spent trying to help find that dumb animal. Without meaning to, a stream of tears fell down her face. She hadn’t meant to cry. It was just that the memory was so beautiful to her. That ox’s stubbornness, it made her fearless and unstoppable. Those characteristics got Bessie into trouble, but it was also what made her so valuable. She could move any post; she could pull anything out of the ground. She was strong. That’s why Alexa’s father would compare her to that animal. Alexa was strong, too. She would survive this hole.
“Senorita, he’s coming today. He wants you dressed, and he wants to have lunch with you.”
“I’m not eating.” The words came out dry and parched because Alexa tried to refuse as much food and water as possible. She didn’t want anything from him. She didn’t need anything from him. She was waiting. He’d stuck them in this time warp where she didn’t exactly know how many days or how many weeks had passed since she’d been taken from her father’s compound in Idaho. Marco had been giving her some kind of medication that made her sleep. He or Marsal injected it into her, and then, when she woke up, everything was hazy. She hated it. She tried to break her chains and resist, but each dose left her empty and tired and…foggy.
Today, though, she felt clearer than usual. Clear and calm. She’d been praying all morning that today would be the day she could get free of this place. Today would be the day she could, at least, find out if her father and Sam were alive. Emotion pounded behind her eyes. An unwanted tear fell down her check. She had to be clear headed today. She had to devise a strategy to escape.
“Mi hermanita.” Marsal wiped at her tear. Her voice had gone from demanding to sorrowful. “Do not be so sad. This can all change for you. You can have a new life with Marco. He loves you so much.”
At this, Alexa’s eyes flashed open. “Have a life?” Her voice was raspy from not speaking. “How can Marco and I have a life together?”
Marsal nodded and smiled, pushing Alexa’s hair back from her face and reaching for a small brush. “You could go to Columbia and start over, have hij
os, be happy, be together away from all this bad. It would work.” She lightly combed Alexa’s hair and then smiled. “My brother is a good man. He’s been forced to do a lot for our family but give him a chance.”
Alexa laughed. It shook out of her painfully because there was nothing inside of her to draw from. It cracked down her dry throat and left her slunk over, head down, crying more tears.
“Aw, don’t get yourself all worked up today, Senorita. You know it troubles him. When he comes for lunch and you are so upset, it is not good. Let me fix you up, get you bonita, so when he comes, he sees his beautiful fiancé. He sees the future in you.”
Every part of her tensed and then shook out with another horrible laugh. “I am nothing, Marsal.” The manic laughter faded, and Alexa’s voice was soft, but also stern. “I am engaged to another man. And I don’t even know if he is alive or dead.”
“No, no, no, chica.” Marsal’s voice turned stern, too. She stopped brushing and stood. “You are engaged to Marco Hernandez, the head of my family. He is a man that took us from poverty in Mexico and built a life for us in the United States. A man that paid my son’s college tuition and made sure my daughters have everything they need to get by in this world.” She physically trembled and paced to the small window and rose on her tiptoes, then quickly moved back, her face impassioned. “Marco is a man that was forced to watch his own mama and papa die at the hands of gang members. He watched our parents get beaten, and he saved my brother and me. He had to make something of this family with his bare hands, and that’s what he did.”
Marsal was angry. Alexa could feel it, but Alexa was angry, too. “Tell me if my father’s alive. Tell me if Sam Dubois, my fiancé, is alive!” She screamed it.
Marsal’s eyes widened and her lips pinched. Before Alexa could see it coming, Marsal slapped her. Hard. “To survive everyone has to give sacrifice. Your man is GONE!” she shouted. “Your father is DEAD!” You have no one but US!”
This is what they’d told her again and again. Day after day. But she didn’t believe it. “NO!” Alexa roared and shook her hands in the chains. “Tell me the truth!”
Chapter 3
His brother deserved to be dead. That’s all Sam could think about as he watched the people move through the line at the church, pick up his hand, and pay their respects.
His mother stood next to him and his other brother, Mike, stood on the other side of her. Mike was an inch shorter than Sam with longer hair and looked a little like a hippy in mourning. His mother had her prettiest black dress on. She clutched a tissue in one hand and kept her hand gently against Sam’s back, like she would protect him if she had to. Like he was six and she was making sure he wouldn’t run off. Dave’s wife and two sons stoically stood next to the casket. His father had a hand on each of the kid’s shoulders and he nodded to the whispered regrets.
The line moved quickly. Sam mostly let out soft grunts and nodded at people. Occasionally, he tried to put a smile on his face, but it felt too rubbery at this point. He felt stiff and hollow. Bubbling rage lay just below his calm veneer. He’d been sitting in that hospital bed for two weeks, trying to convince them he could leave. They’d insisted his stomach wound needed more time. He hadn’t believed them, but every time he’d tried to leave, he’d pass out and wake up back in the bed. He had been tied down a few times and drugged to let his body heal.
His parents had told him that Dave had confessed. Confessed to the rape. Confessed to chasing Alexa away. Confessed to robbing Sam of any happiness he could have had. Dave had felt guilty, so he’d gotten on the helicopter and tried to save both of them.
“Uncle Sam?”
Jolted out of his dark thoughts, Sam turned to see little Billy, Dave’s three-year-old. His blonde hair was tousled, and his eyes were red. “Can I stand by you?”
Warmth dispersed the darkness. Even though the doctor would not be happy, Sam bent and gingerly picked Billy up. “Hey little man.”
Billy sighed and put his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Why won’t he talk?”
The way Billy looked over at the coffin evoked an emotion in Sam he hadn’t felt since the whole thing had happened, compassion. He squeezed Billy closer. “I’m sorry.” His voice broke.
Karen moved next to them, holding out her arms to take Billy. “You’re uncle’s hurt, sweetie. Let me take you.”
Billy went willingly, and Karen blinked as she turned back to the coffin.
He had only seen her once at the hospital. She’d come to check on him, and he’d acted out his part. He’d feigned gratitude for Dave’s sacrifice. She’d had the two kids with her, so he’d kept up the pretense. His parents told him they weren’t going to tell Karen about the rape. He didn’t know how to feel about that but figured it wouldn’t do any good now anyway. Watching Karen, he knew that she’d truly loved his brother. He knew that knowledge of his brother’s sins would give no one justice.
Emotion surged inside of him and bubbled up into his throat. His brother had not deserved Karen. He did not deserve people standing around feeling bad because he was gone.
Anger and pain assaulted him, and he pulled away from the line. This was ridiculous. This whole display for a man that wasn’t what anyone thought. A man that wasn’t honorable, a man that had no integrity. A man that had only lost his life trying to fix the crap storm of a mess he’d created seven years ago.
Sam ran out of the church and sucked in a cool breath. Thanksgiving had slipped by, and now it was the beginning of December. He’d missed the last two weeks of the changing seasons, but he didn’t care about that. He kicked the outside of the church, and pain shot through his toe and up his leg.
Where was she? Where was Alexa? He was haunted by that day. Of pulling the trigger and seeing Marco go slack and then blacking out. No one had given him clear answers. His resources at the FBI told him Marco had taken her and gotten away. They hadn’t been able to get a clear read on Marco’s location.
He pounded his fist against the brick. He’d been stuck on his butt in that hospital, barely lucid but still wanting to rip someone’s eyes out.
“That bad, huh?” Gary, one of the other FBI guys on the task force to hunt Marco, stared intently at him.
Sam frowned. “Heard you’ve been promoted.”
Gary put a soft hand on his shoulder. “Just because I’m filling in for you doesn’t mean the job’s not here when you’re ready to come back.”
“Where is she?”
Gary grimaced. “We have a team working on it. All Marco’s contacts have gone silent. Even his whole family is gone. They just disappeared in the middle of the night. He’s not at any of his known locations. He’s gone deep. We don’t even know if he’s still alive. All the precious months of intel are gone.”
“Alexa.” Sam insisted.
“I’m sorry, bud. It’s…I’ve had every man I could spare on this case, tracking the helicopter, tracking Marco’s men. The line went cold somewhere in Florida, and there’s been nothing new. I’ve had to pull back. I still have eyes in Florida, but you know how these things go. They’re watching and waiting.”
The lack of information only served to upset Sam more. “They need to find her.”
Gary nodded. “I agree. I wish there was more I could do.”
Sam simmered. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Gary laughed. “No, you are on mandatory time off until that wound is completely gone and you’ve had a full psyche evaluation.”
“Gary, you seriously think some shrink is going to tell you I’m normal after my brother’s been killed and my fiancé is in the hands of some evil murderer? Wouldn’t it be wrong for me to be okay?”
Gary’s lip twitched. “Since I’m in charge of the crew now, you can talk to the director. But you know Jean will want to cover his butt as much as he can, especially after an incident like this.”
Sam’s hand fisted at his side. “That’s politician speak and you know it.”
Gary put his hand up. “I’ll have our
people get you in touch with all the right connections to get all this done and get you cleared.”
Sam didn’t respond because, truthfully, the only thing he wanted to do at the moment was punch Gary in the face.
Gary shrugged and moved toward the parking lot. “I’ll catch you later.”
Sam watched Gary get into his car and drive back to the curb. Gary pressed a button and rolled down the passenger window. “I’m sorry about your brother. He was a good man.”
Sam nodded and his attention went to the flashy red car. “Nice ride.”
Gary sucked in a quick breath and then let it out all twitchy. “Oh, yeah. You know, getting paid a little more with the job bump.” He pointed at him. “I’ll be in touch.” He drove the new Ford Mustang out of the parking lot, and Sam wondered how he’d gotten the money to afford it, even if he had gotten a pay increase. Gary’d been complaining about the back child support he had to pay after his divorce not very long ago. Something felt wrong. He shook his head, letting the thought go. Who cared about a stupid car? He needed to focus.
“Sam.”
Before Sam even turned, he recognized that voice. It had been in his dreams, in the drug-induced hallucinations. It was Alexa’s father, Frank.
Frank stood there in a suit. The haunted expression on his face matched the one Sam saw when he looked into the mirror. Frank’s hands hung awkwardly at his side. He looked the way all cops do when they have no one to interrogate, like there’s simply no use to their life. He was thinner, balder, and the smudges around his eyes revealed that he hadn’t been sleeping much.
“H-hey.” He’d heard that Frank hadn’t been hurt, so that was good. He didn’t know what legal things had to be sorted out about keeping a secret bunker on his property, but he was sure it wasn’t fun. He’d thought about calling Frank the last couple of days, but he didn’t know what to say. Sorry I couldn’t protect her. Sorry I failed. Sorry I lost the only precious thing in your life.