Untamed: Duty Bound Book 3

by J. S. Marlo

  The glimpse into her former life drew a smile onto his face.

  “I went to the hospital. I saw the doctor tell the nurse to call the cops because he thought I’d been beaten. A teenage girl was in the bed next to mine, looking worse than me. She warned me not to squeal, or back on the dock, Uncle Drew would beat me up twice as hard. Her name was Lindsay. She’d obviously mistaken me for another girl. I wanted to ask her more questions, but Uncle Drew showed up to pick her up. When the cops came, I told them about the suspicious uncle.”

  Hooked on every word, Avery held his breath for confirmation the officers had indeed listened to her suspicions.

  “At the time, I wasn’t confident they’d taken me seriously. A week later they called. They wanted me to identify Lindsay’s body. She was found in a dumpster, the fifth girl in six months to meet the same fate.” Her voice dropped to an eerie whisper, sending chills down his back. “When the picture fell from Freddy’s pocket, and I looked at the dumpster girl, she reminded me of Lindsay and the others. That’s when my past came flowing back.”

  He’d realized the picture had been the trigger, but it’d never occurred to him she’d seen worse.

  “The other four girls had no name. The police suspected human trafficking, but they had no lead. Uncle Drew was an unknown character no one had ever encountered. Since I could identify him, the police enlisted my help. Accompanied by an officer posing as a pimp, I began touring the docks at night. It took me weeks to infiltrate the ring and months to gain the trust of the girls. I stayed undercover with my pimp for eleven months, until we gathered enough evidence to dismantle the ring.”

  “You’re the gutsy girl who worked on the Marina case?” Unbound admiration swelled inside his chest. The raid on the docks couldn’t have been orchestrated without the in-depth information provided by the courageous undercover girl. “Hannah, do you realize thirty-one girls were saved that night? I was part of the task force. We were flabbergasted we managed to rescue all of them alive.”

  “Then you understand I had to withdraw the charges. I couldn’t betray them, not after working so hard to save them.”

  “You lost me.” The correlation between the man in the elevator and the girls had flown right over his head without touching his hair.

  She rolled her eyes, as if it should have been obvious. “The man in the elevator was one of the ringleaders. I didn’t recognize him until I had to identify him the next day at the police station. We still hadn’t wrapped the case. To protect my undercover identity and the integrity of the Marina trial, I had to cite mistaken identity. A week later, the police raided a cheap motel where I was meeting the girls. Like everyone else, I was charged for prostitution. My criminal record was supposed to be purged once the culprits were arrested. With my reputation in temporary shambles, I quit my job at Child Welfare but kept working undercover until the operation was over. Gramp’s timely illness gave me a valid excuse to leave Halifax without raising suspicion. This was the price I had to pay, and I could never redeem it.”

  The choice to press or drop charges had never belonged to her. The day she accepted the undercover assignment, she chose to forsake her reputation and put the girls’ wellbeing above her own.

  “You’re wrong, Hannah.” He wiped a lone tear brimming in her eyelashes. “Life is priceless. You redeemed it in the eyes of everyone who mattered that night. I’m so very proud of you for—” From the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar silhouette strolling down the deck below. “Stay here.”

  Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he rushed down the steep, narrow stairwell. Standing in the shadow of a lifeboat, Avery searched the deck for the man he’d glimpsed. He spotted him at the bow.

  “Staff Sergeant Avery Stone, RCMP.” His voice carried over the sound of the waves crashing against the hull of the ferry. “Victor Young, you’re under arrest for murder. Raise your hands above your head.”

  The man stilled. “You have the wrong person.”

  “I said hands up.” Skilled in combat training and armed with a bad temper—he’d had to surrender his gun after firing on Russell—Avery approached his suspect from behind. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

  Young spun around. In his right hand, a blade shone in the sunrise. Amidst profanities and death threats, the murderer lunged at him and slashed his sleeve, searing his flesh like fire.

  The man wasn’t supposed to call my bluff. Fuming over the unprovoked knife attack, and still reeling from the previous one, Avery countered with a right hook and caught him in the guts. Young stumbled backward, and the weapon fell onto the deck.

  “Give it up, Young. Don’t add another murder charge to—”

  His adversary dove down for the knife that had once adorned Avery’s mantle. Done issuing warnings, Avery packed a kick to the felon’s jaw. He miscalculated. His boot connected with Young’s solar plexus instead of his face. The man fell onto the railing and tipped backward. His feet flew off the deck.

  Swiftly reaching forward, Avery gripped Young by the front of his coat. He pulled him onto the deck, and with one blow, smacked the daylight out of him.

  “That’s for resisting arrest.”

  His suspect collapsed at his feet. Avery handcuffed him to the railing, checked for pulse, and patted him for concealed weapons, finding none.

  “Is he dead?” Looking haggard, Hannah stood on the last step of the stairwell.

  He joined her and was pleased when she snuggled into his arms. “He’ll live long enough to face justice.”

  The nightmare was over. His family was finally safe.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Busy driving along the coast of Nova Scotia, Hannah couldn’t glimpse more than a few random words of Avery’s conversation. Out-of-context, they made no sense.

  Young was in custody of two officers, awaiting the next ferry for Newfoundland. The getaway car had been confiscated. And Yvonne, a girl who aided and abetted his escape, had been arrested.

  In light of all these recent developments, Avery had no reason to frown on the phone. He hung up as she pulled into a gas station to fill up, but didn’t shed his guarded expression.

  A dreadful thought formed inside her mind. “Is it Vic Young? Did he escape?”

  He met her gaze, then shook his head in what looked like frustration.

  “Young was shackled, ankles and wrists. They were on board, a few klicks from the coast. Young wanted to smoke, so the guys took him to the upper deck. He jumped.”

  Bemused by what she read, she stared at his lips. “Jumped where?”

  The corner of his eyes crinkled. “He jumped overboard, hit the railing below, bounced against the hull, and was swallowed by the sea. Divers are searching for his body.”

  “Really?” That resembled the ending of a bad movie. “To be honest, I can’t say I’m sorry.” The killer had gotten what he deserved. She was just relieved he didn’t die on Avery’s watch. “That’s one less trial to worry about.”

  “There won’t be any trial, just an inquiry.” He took her hand. Through the leather glove, she felt his caresses. “Russell died in his hospital bed while the guard was away from his post. To rule out any suspicious activities, Mitchell reviewed the security tape. Young was seen entering and exiting the room minutes before Russell’s cardiac arrest. On his way out, he was carrying what looked like a syringe in his right hand. They’ll run a full tox screen.”

  The monster had tied his loose ends, finishing off anyone who could have implicated him. Sick. “You sent Russell to the hospital, Avery. You didn’t kill him. His death doesn’t belong on your conscience.”

  “I know. It’s just…” He unbuckled his seatbelt, and for the first time since the medic on the ferry bandaged his arm, he relaxed. “It would have been easier to clear the names of the two teenage boys if Russell or Young had stood trial for their murders. I’ll be buried under so much paperwork trying to bring them justice, you’ll have to dig me out with a shovel.”

  After all these years
, the boys deserved to be heard from beyond the grave. They couldn’t have asked for a better voice than Avery’s.

  “I’ll do better than a shovel, I’ll steal a snowplow.”

  ***

  Sprayed by ocean mist, Buccaneer lay on a white blanket of snow under a pale blue sky. Avery parked in front of the garage, like he’d done so many times during the fateful summer he spent at the Bed and Breakfast.

  “What if Rory forgot me?” In the passenger seat, Hannah slipped her gloves on and off. “I’ve never been away from him this long…I’ve never been away at all.”

  To watch false insecurities seep though her strong and courageous nature was both mystifying and mesmerizing. A tender heart fed her wild spirits. As her lover and future husband, it’d become his honor and duty to protect it at any cost.

  “A boy never forgets his mother.” It’d only been a few weeks—weeks that had seemed to extend into years—but time wasn’t something he wanted to argue in the confine of his vehicle, not when he had no chance of winning. “Let’s go, sweetheart. You’ve waited long enough to see him.”

  Avery knocked. The front door opened, revealing Bill’s naked skull.

  “That’s what I call a wonderful surprise.” The old man ushered them into the vestibule. “You must be Hannah. I’m Grampa Bill. I’m so glad to finally meet Rory’s pretty mama.”

  To Avery’s amazement, Bill hugged Hannah. A big spontaneous hug that seemed to release all the tension from her body and brought a teary smile on her beautiful face. “Thank you.”

  “Rory! Come down, Buddy!” Bill winked at them. “Someone is here to see you.”

  A baby cried and bouncy steps reverberated from the staircase.

  Bill, your granddaughter will wring your neck for waking up Savannah. Rowan was as fiercely protective as Hannah, and Avery doubted the old man would get away with this.

  Beside him, Hannah exhaled a sharp breath. “Was Rory good?”

  “He’s a great little guy.” Grandfatherly pride pumped up Bill’s chest, inflating his sweater. “You raised him well.”

  As Rory appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a huge grin stretched across his face. “Mama!” He dashed into his mother’s arms. “You have funny hair!”

  Astounded by Rory’s shrill greeting, Avery looked at Bill for confirmation. “His voice…it’s back…how…”

  “Long story, but you were right. Rory is a witness.” As he inched closer, Bill lowered his voice. “He saw three people attack your guy. Tell me you’ll keep on protecting him.”

  The deadly trio. Abbott had died at the hands of his wife, her cousin, and her boyfriend, his only son witnessing his last moments.

  “The three individuals died resisting arrest.” Though the nightmare was over, Avery would make certain Rory received the counseling he’d need to grow up emotionally unharmed. “Rory is safe. I intend to keep him that way.”

  “Then you may want to stop his mom from smothering him.”

  Oblivious of the conversation, Rory struggled to escape his mother’s arms. “Mama! You’re squeezing me!”

  A blaze of unadulterated wonderment burned in Hannah’s eyes as she fell to her knees and released him. “You’re talking.”

  His head bobbled up and down with the seriousness of a four-year old. “Grampa said it was okay to talk, that Brent wouldn’t be angry.”

  “Brent loved you, Munchkin. He would never be angry with you.” Hannah placed her hands on both his shoulders, keeping him close. “Who’s Grampa?”

  “That’s Grampa.” Without a hesitation, his little man pointed at Bill. “And there’s Gramma Gail. She bakes cookies. And there’s Auntie Roan. She reads me and Baby Vannah lots of stories. And there’s Uncle Born. He’s funny, like Uncle Freddy.”

  “You’re one lucky Munchkin.” The words had flown out of Rory’s mouth at the speed of a bullet, and yet, Hannah showed no sign she’d missed any portion of his speech. “You even got bigger while I was gone.”

  He puffed his bony chest. “Gramma doesn’t give me peas. Can I keep her and Grampa? Please?”

  Avery swallowed his chuckles, breathing in the sweet aroma of chocolate and banana. Bringing Rory here had been the best decision he could have made.

  “Of course you can keep them.”

  As a victorious grin spread on Rory’s face, Hannah looked at him over the youngster’s head. Hoping she was thinking about a different set of grandparents, Avery nodded in approval. To his pleasure, she responded in kind.

  “Munchkin, I know two other people who don’t have a grandson. Maybe we could ask them if they’d like to be your grandma and grandpa too. What do you think?”

  “But…” Rory’s face scrunched up in a cartoonish caricature. “Can I have a dad like Baby Vannah instead? Please? There’s one I like a lot.”

  The request squeezed the air out of Avery’s lungs, and seemed to cut the circulation in Hannah’s arms.

  Her hands dropped onto her lap. “There is?”

  “Yes, he…” Rory’s voice dropped to an inaudible whisper, his lips moving for his mother’s eyes only.

  The promise of a smile swirled on Hannah’s lips. “He keeps his promises and Snowflake likes him? I’d say he’s a good choice. Why don’t you ask him if he wants to be your father?” She winked at their son. “I bet he’ll say yes.”

  “Really?” His face lit up like a firework, Rory bounced up and down, becoming very quiet when his gaze settled on him.

  With the last building block of his new life falling into place, Avery scooped his little man off his feet and held him tight. “I love your mom, I love you…and I love Snowflake. You think you could pick me as your dad?”

  Rory wrapped his arms around his neck and gave him a solid nod, sealing the bond.

  Uniting them.

  Biography

  J.S. Marlo spent her childhood in a small French Canadian town, reading and daydreaming stories. One day, she met her hero, a dashing young officer, and followed him back and forth across the country.

  The memorable adventures she experienced with her young family fueled her imagination and kindled the dream of one day becoming a published author. It wasn’t until after her three spirited children left the nest in pursuit of their own adventures, that J.S. finally gave writing a chance.

  Her first two dozen stories were for her friends’ eyes only. To her surprise and delight, they enjoyed them and rewarded her with their encouragement and support. J.S. kept writing, and learning, and writing…

  She finally captured her dream with her first novel Salvaged, and then carried on with her first series “Duty Bound”: Unscripted–Book One, Unearthed–Book Two, and Untamed–Book Three.

  J.S. lives in northern Alberta with her wonderful hubby, and when she’s not visiting her children and little granddoggie, she’s working on her next series in front of the fireplace.