Against the Odds

by Tori Carson

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  Against the Odds

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-937-4

  ©Copyright Tori Carson 2015

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2015

  Edited by Jennifer Douglas

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

  Bound for Justice

  AGAINST THE ODDS

  Tori Carson

  Book two in the Bound for Justice series

  Once their paths cross, their fates are sealed.

  Sid is a master at solving cold cases. His mind thrives on the challenge. He has a knack for finding elusive clues and piecing the puzzle together, until he starts on the trail of a privileged teenage debutante who in a fit of rage burned down her design studio and brutally murdered her closest competitor.

  As the years go by, the case becomes an obsession. Using age progression techniques, he knows the girl has grown into a beautiful woman. He wonders how many others have fallen into her web of deadly deceit.

  Sasha is a brilliant interior decorator. Her designs are coveted by the rich and influential. She has a mysterious air. No one knows about her murky past and she’s determined to keep it that way. She survives by relying on no one and avoiding all personal connections. After a break-in at her office brings unwanted police attention, she feels the noose tightening. She must choose between escape and making a stand. To break free, she’ll have to do the unthinkable. She’ll have to learn to trust.

  Dedication

  This book would never have been finished without the support of my wonderful husband. I was blessed beyond measure when you entered my life.

  I’d also like to dedicate this book to my awesome Facebook reader group, Desired Discipline. Thank you so much for your friendship and kind words of encouragement. Your continued support and help in promoting the books is greatly appreciated.

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Cy Young Award: Major Baseball League

  Mustangs: Robert Glen

  Jell-O: Kraft

  Draino: S.C. Johnson

  BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG

  Advil: Pfizer

  New Yorker Hotel: Wyndom

  Tovrea Castle: Arizona Parks and Rec

  Brooks Brothers: Brooks Brothers Group Inc.

  Levis: Levi Strauss Ltd.

  Glock: Glock Ges.m.b.H.

  Sig Sauer: Swiss Arms

  Chevy Express: General Motors

  iPad: Apple

  Google Maps: Google

  Taser: Taser International

  The Twilight Zone: Rod Serling

  Twitter: Twitter Inc.

  Suburban: General Motors

  Taurus: Ford Motor Co.

  Benadryl: McNEIL-PPC, Inc.

  Viagra: Pfizer

  Hitachi: Hitachi

  Google Maps: Google Inc.

  Chapter One

  Fear pervaded every cell of her body. Alexa’s throat closed, refusing the smoke laden air. Flames raced through the studio, devouring her dreams. Bolt after bolt of custom woven fabric, designed for her new clothing line, gone in the blink of an eye. Her head throbbed from the beating she’d endured at the hands of her protector and guardian. She pushed away the pain and betrayal. Nothing mattered now but survival. Sliding in and out of consciousness, she lay still, biding her time until she could escape.

  One last kick to her ribs, and a muttered obscenity, signaled his departure. Her attacker had ripped her files from the cabinet and scattered them along the floor. Her once priceless, ‘one of a kind’, designs were now ruined. He’d taken a sledgehammer to her computer’s hard drive, wrapped it in a bolt of embellished silk and set it ablaze.

  She had to get out and that meant curling into a ball and crying her eyes out would have to wait. As she crawled over months of work, once coveted and protected, now discarded to fuel her funeral pyre, her hand slipped on the loose papers, sending her chin scraping across the blood-soaked floor. She dashed away the tears and continued. As she neared the doorway, she had to move Ezzy’s lifeless body from the exit. Alexa took Ezzy by the arm and pulled her farther into the room. Knowing that Ezzy was beyond help didn’t ease the guilt beating at Alexa. Her stomach protested over and over. Bile burned her smoke-scorched throat, her muscles twisted into knots as she fought to keep moving.

  Alexa jerked awake, landing hard on the floor beside the single bed in her low-rent apartment. Thousands of miles and ten years later, the bad dreams continued to assault her. The roar of the fire still assaulted her ears. Her lungs still protested the acidic fumes and her stomach still rebelled remembering Ezzy’s mutilated body. Long ago, she’d accepted nightmares were a part of her life. She didn’t have the time or energy to feel sorry for herself. Betrayal and death were always there waiting for a careless moment. She’d vowed to never be careless again.

  * * * *

  Sid stared at the young girl’s picture taped to his computer screen. It was a tactic he’d used many times while working on cold cases for the FBI. Yet this time was different. He didn’t need the photo front and center to keep Alexa on his mind. She lived there. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter, her image was burned into his brain.

  He had stacks of other cases littering his workspace and thousands of others just a keystroke away. Why this one?

  “Hello,” Teague waved his hand in front of Sid’s face, “where’d you go?”

  “Sorry.”

  Teague walked over and pulled her photo from the screen. “Missing?”

  Sid took the picture and put it back where it had been. His finger lingered over her face. Such a contagious smile and intelligent eyes didn’t fit the horrific crimes she was wanted for.

 
“It’s a cold case a buddy of mine in New York asked me to review. Don’t worry about it.” His friend had long since consigned it to the hopeless case bin, but Sid continued to track down every lead. For whatever reason, he just couldn’t shake it. He hated to think about the man hours he’d put into finding the girl. All he really had to go by was a fingerprint.

  “Pretty little thing. How long ago did she disappear?” Teague was like a Gila monster, once he sank his teeth into something, he never let go.

  “Ten years.” She could easily be dead by now. A sixteen-year-old kid wanted by police and living on the streets didn’t have a hell of a lot of opportunities.

  “Damn. That’s a long time. Who do you think grabbed her and why is the NBIA pursing this case?”

  The National Border Interdiction Agency, his current employer, specialized in crimes originating outside the United States. “This one is off the clock. She’s not a victim. She’s an arsonist and a murderer, or so the theory goes.” How could a child like that brutally beat and ultimately murder her brother’s fiancée, set fire to her family’s garment warehouse then stage the scene in an attempt to fake her own death?

  “Any leads?” Teague continued to pursue the matter.

  Recently he’d been notified of a new hit on the partial print. Unlike the hundreds before it, this one was practically in his own backyard. It seemed doubtful that a young girl would leave the glitz and glamour of New York City to travel across the country and settle in Arizona, but there were some oddities that had his curiosity aroused.

  “Maybe.”

  Teague motioned for him to keep talking.

  “Why the hell are you so interested?” Sid wasn’t comfortable talking about this case.

  “You’ve been telling me how I need to learn investigative techniques that go beyond a keyboard. Obviously this is something you feel strongly about. You aren’t even getting paid for this, yet you’re still spending your off time on it. Therefore, it must be a doozy. So walk me through how to solve a ten-year-old case.”

  Fuck. Why had he believed befriending Teague was a good idea? Although he tried, he couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t confide in Teague.

  “Recently a local interior design firm was broken into. A secretary, a temp on a six-month assignment, phoned it in. A couple of things caused the investigating officer to be suspicious.” He raised his index finger. “First, the temp was supposed to be filling in for a woman on maternity leave. After some digging, he found out there were five secretaries before this one and each had been hired as a six-month temp. And none of them left because they were pregnant.” He raised two fingers. “In fact, everyone associated with the firm is hired temporarily or as a contracted project-based employee.”

  “Could just be cheap. If you keep rotating the staff none of them are going to ask for a raise or expect benefits,” Teague suggested.

  Sid shrugged. “The owner, a young woman known publically as Sasha, is a big deal. Her designs are the latest craze. Everyone who’s anyone has at least a room decorated by Sasha. She isn’t hurting for money.”

  Teague looked at him closely. Sid obviously needed to work on his poker face.

  “You and I both know that some of the richest people are the ones that pinch a penny until it screams.”

  Sid nodded. “According to the police report, once Sasha arrived, she told the investigator there’d been a misunderstanding. She said her boyfriend, who she refused to identify, had ransacked the office after an argument. She told him she was sure nothing had been taken and was adamant he drop the investigation. The detective didn’t buy it for a minute and ran the prints anyway.”

  “Does this Sasha physically match her?” Teague tipped his chin toward the picture.

  “The owner of Sasha’s Design is a twenty-six-year-old brunette, about five foot six, who reportedly netted several million last year.”

  “And?”

  “So why does she live in a studio apartment in a shitty part of town? According to the DMV, her company owns one delivery van and she personally owns a late-model pickup. Though they are both unencumbered, neither speak of that kind of money. You’d think a young girl earning seven figures would have a few creature comforts.”

  Teague nodded. “I’m assuming you’ve had an age progression artist give you a hand.”

  Sid hit a few keys on his computer and brought up the sketch. About a year ago, he’d asked for a workup. Sid believed in crossing his t’s and dotting his i’s. His nature dictated he cover every base, though he was sure he wouldn’t need it. This case was never far from his mind. Lately, he’d even been dreaming about her. Not the vibrant teen from the picture, but a very serious young woman. A damsel in distress. The type he always fell for.

  * * * *

  With the reins held loosely between her index and middle fingers, Sasha rode along a faint game trail deep in the Tonto National Forest. The narrow path was barely visible as the sun broke over the horizon, but she knew it well. The breeze, crisp in the morning hours, usually helped dispel the sooty stains destroying her soul bit by bit. Today she found no such reprieve. The smoke cloud, dense and dark, refused to move along. It had taken up residence like a noose swinging above her head.

  “What am I going to do, Dakota?” She leaned forward and patted her palomino’s neck. He’d been her only true confidant since moving to Arizona. Like her, he’d been abused by the person charged with caring for him. They had so much in common. The steed had grown strong under her ownership, but his emotional distress was still evident. Physically, Sasha had overcome the past. Yet, the haunting nightmares were a reminder that she could run, but never fully escape.

  “They found me again,” she mumbled into the wind, wishing it weren’t true. “I was foolish, Dakota. I’d drawn some sketches one night and left them in the office. They’re missing.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to run again.”

  * * * *

  Sid tried not to think about the numerous policy violations he was committing as he spent his day off on stake-out in a telephone repair van in the alley behind Sasha’s Designs. He was a by the book man. Rules were written for a reason and he believed in following them. And yet from the first glimpse he’d captured of Sasha Powell, interior decorator extraordinaire, he’d forgotten all about the rules. His muscles, cramped from hours of sitting in seats as ergonomically perfect as the rack, were also pushed from his mind. There was no doubt in Sid’s mind Sasha was Alexa Desman, heir to the renowned fashion dynasty, Desman’s Designs.

  Knowing he’d found her, he brought his laptop online and applied for leave. He couldn’t, in good conscience, use agency time for a case not in their jurisdiction, and he wasn’t about to let her slip away by investigating half-assed.

  For several days Sid tracked her movements. Up before dawn, changing vehicles every day, he learned her routine and determined the best way to approach her. She had money readily available to disappear at a moment’s notice. So, showing up with badge in hand was out. He couldn’t pull off hiring her as an interior decorator either. His puny little apartment wouldn’t warrant someone of her caliber. She could easily assign his business to one of her contract workers.

  One morning, he found his opening. Through his extensive research, he’d learned that even as a youth Alexa had been an animal rights activist. She had spearheaded a community fundraiser to help animals suffering smoke inhalation after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Sasha wasn’t a member of any national organizations. However, she was heavily involved with a local horse rescue.

  Sid swallowed his pride and called a friend for help. Sammy, a fellow agent who also owned a small ranch near Cordes Junction, answered on the second ring. “I need to ask a favor. How quickly can you teach me to ride?”

  He pulled the phone away from his ear as Sammy belly laughed loud enough to bust his eardrums.

  “You do realize horses are ridden outside in the”—Sammy gasped dramatically—“dirt. Right?”

  “Very fu
nny. Are you going to teach me or not?” Sid wasn’t in the mood for a good-natured ribbing.

  “Come on out, but I don’t want to hear about your laundry bill.”

  * * * *

  Turning into the wind, Sasha hoped to dry her tears before they streaked down her face. What is there to cry about anyway? Her life was what she made it. She answered to no one. She tried not to think about the flip side of that, no one to talk to or share her life with. And other than a handful of employees who would miss their next paycheck, no one would mourn if she gave up the fight and fell over dead.

  Dakota whinnied as if reading her thoughts. She patted his neck. “I know, boy, I’m going to miss you too. You’ve been my only true friend. I promise I’ll find someone to take good care of you.”

  Whinnying again, Dakota sidestepped and reared as Sasha struggled to stay in her saddle. Before she could get him under control, a rider crested the bluff and galloped toward her, further spooking the once beaten and abused animal.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched him draw a large caliber pistol from the small of his back. Since she’d been a teenager, she’d known her death would be a violent one. Her only regret was not properly ensuring care for Dakota after she was gone.

  She heard the shot, but didn’t wait for the darkness to claim her. With a flick of the reins, she craned Dakota back in the direction they’d just come and allowed him to bolt. Sasha wasn’t prepared for his shoulder to drop halfway through the turn. Her balance shifted and the ground came up to meet her. The rider was on her before she could get to her feet.

  The first thing she noticed was fresh blisters on the inside of his index and middle fingers. Her offbeat sense of humor always chose odd times to strike. She could just see herself giving the police a description of her attacker.