True Love Lost (An FBI Romance Thriller (book 3))

by Kelley, Morgan

  She blew him a kiss, before waving to his companions.

  “Gentlemen, make sure you get him home safely, and you don’t keep him out too late at night. You don’t want to make me angry,” she said giggling, as she tossed her long blond locks over her shoulder.

  “Oh darn, you got me dirty,” she wiped at the stain on the front of her sweater. “I don’t think blood will come out of fleece. Darn it!” she paused, looking worried. “Oh, don’t worry lover. I won’t be late with dinner because I’m out shopping. I will just toss this out and make sure I’m presentable for you when you get home.”

  She stopped, as if listening for some conversation only she was privy to hearing. Tapping her chin, she gave it great thought before finally answering him.

  “We’re having lasagna. Your favorite, lover!”

  And then she walked away giggling.

  She was so lucky to have him in her life.

  Two weeks ago.

  The woman stood in her basement in front of the jars lining the wall, gazing at her collection. Each jar held part of her lover and once the collection was complete, she’d begin to reconstruct him and complete her mission in life.

  Piece by piece…

  And then she’d find someone to help her give him back what he was missing. That would take someone skilled with helping people, and it may be hard to pull off, but she’d figure it out. Anything was possible if it was done for the right reason.

  LOVE.

  Every night she came to the basement and stood in front of the shelves to admire her work. It was her own little hideaway, found when construction had begun on the house she called home. She told no one when the construction crew came to her with the unsealed entrance to the ancient canning cellar. From that day, she kept it a secret and had plans to use it as her place to hide. Every woman needed a place to think. This was her special place.

  It was a sanctuary of sorts. When her lover was with her, there were no places in the house she could call her own. Now it was different, and she was sure when he came back that there would be the allowance of her secret spot.

  He’d give it to her out of gratitude.

  Help her fix it up.

  Tell her he loved her for being faithful, even though a normal partner would have given up hope of his return.

  For now it housed her most important treasures. As she ran her hands lovingly across the big and small jars, she began to feel excitement. Soon she’d be able to completely put him back together again, and everything would be perfect.

  Soon her true love would be back and there would be no more worries. It was hard being alone, and she didn’t like it at all. Without a man in her life she felt incomplete. There was no one to please or wait on hand and foot. She turned the jar containing her lover’s new foot and laughed at her own little silly joke.

  Yes, she was incomplete just as he was, and once she completed him, she too would be whole again.

  It would happen.

  It was coming.

  She could feel it.

  Planning her next evening alone with him became the priority, as she moved towards the rickety stairs. “Good night my love,” she whispered over her shoulder, as she pulled the chain on the dangling light.

  “Until we meet again.”

  ~ Chapter one ~

  Monday Morning

  Doctor Desdemona Adare stood in the kitchen of her newly furnished home, and had her second cup of coffee for the morning. The view from the window was one of cold winds and dreary weather. Mid-winter had everything in its icy grip, and all around her new home was dead and barren. Maybe it was just her, but winter wasn’t something she enjoyed. The layers upon layers of heavy clothing, the sting of seasonal depression come January, and the slippery driving conditions. When she lived in Virginia, there were days when the roads were horrific, but never as bad as out west. When a big storm came, it came with a vengeance and tried to crush all living things.

  Mother Nature was being bitchy this winter, and she was tired of the crankiness.

  Just last week it took her two hours to dig out from the snowy free-for-all. It wasn’t something she ever thought she’d like or adjust to either. Snow should fall in inches and not in feet. That was unjust punishment from Mother Nature. Back home in the bayou there was never snow, and as a kid she was jealous and wanted to see the fluffy white stuff. Now she was sorry she even thought that it might be fun. It wasn’t at all. In fact, she could say without a doubt it sucked.

  As she looked at the big stone house behind hers, protectively surrounded by the privacy fence, there had to be a good six inches of new fallen snow on the crest. Crap! That meant it snowed more last night.

  That was it! Nature won, and she was going to do the smart thing and hire someone to plow her driveway and sidewalks. Even if it cost a fortune, it meant not having to freeze her ass off. That alone was worth it.

  Desdemona laughed, as she’d once had the same thoughts about the sweltering heat of the bayou. Packing up her little car to head off to college, she swore she’d find a place with more than one season- HOT! Now she was thinking maybe it wasn’t the location, and it was really her being overly picky.

  Maybe she missed her family, and she was just trying to make an excuse to sell the house and run again.

  Desdemona Adare watched the smoke from the stone chimney on her neighbor’s house and thought about her family. There weren’t many people left to call her own. Her mother disappeared years ago when she was just a small child. One day Trinity Adare went out into the swamp to gather roots for her grandmother and never returned. It didn’t matter that there was a swamp wide search for her, or that they put up posters. She had gone ‘POOF’!

  Some said she ran off with a young man that grand-mère wouldn’t approve of, and some said she fell into the swamp only to become a snack for the gators. Either way, Desdemona lost her desire to be from the bayou the day her mother disappeared.

  Then there was her sister. Oh, she loved her with all her heart. Cordelia Adare was the spitting image of her mother. Tall, lean and so achingly beautiful that Desdemona couldn’t help but be jealous. Unfortunately she got the short end of the genetic stick, literally. Where her sister was light and sunny, she was dark and sinister. Okay, maybe that wasn’t a good word to use, but she was a Medical Examiner, and she did like to wear a lot of black. As much as she wanted to be like her cherished sister, she was just going to have to let it go and be happy with being whimsical and kooky.

  Desdemona did miss her grand-mère. The woman was her rock and stability. When she told her that she didn’t want to stay, but move north for medical school, her grandmother supported her and helped her pay for the education. How she did it that was the big mystery. Whenever Desdemona asked her grand-mère, she was told to ‘hush and not worry’. Maybe it was for the best, and what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you. If you looked in the dictionary under the word ‘bizarre’, you’d find her grand-mère's picture. Desdemona was convinced she inherited her kookiness from that part of the family tree.

  Going to college had meant everything to her. The academic accolades, the push through the best medical schools in the country, and graduating top of the class with honors. It all meant the world to her, because no one expected a bayou girl to make anything of herself. Proving them wrong was the best payback. Now she had the big house, the fancy car, and enough money to support her sister and grand-mère back home. Life was good.

  Almost.

  Desdemona left working on the east coast for one major reason. It wasn’t for the money; she had already had a cushy job that paid well. She left because HE had found her again. As she dotted the country trying to stay one step ahead of him, she came into and left jobs that she loved. Now she worked for the FBI, and as much as a mystery caught her attention, it was the fact she could carry a gun that made the job the selling point. When being stalked, having a gun and working in one of the most secure buildings in the world offered a great deal of comfort.

&n
bsp; It wasn’t as if she didn’t try to find out who it was harassing her. Desdemona tried and in fact, she’d filed reports, asked for help and then finally moved. Each time she had going to the authorities, and was patted on the shoulder and told it was her imagination.

  It wasn’t her imagination!

  There was that sense of always being watched. One moment it would be fine, and the next it would be there. This awareness would come and go, and then when she let her guard down, the messages would start back up again. At first she went through all the ex’s and tried to figure out if it was one of them and nothing. Each had moved on and had their own life. Now it wasn’t only a mystery, but a colossal pain in her ass. It was like the stalker wanted her isolated, alone, and scared. There were no friends to lean on, and no men to keep her safe. She’d had to forgo all of that in the attempt to keep herself and them safe from being a target.

  It was a horrible existence.

  Not to mention creepy.

  Always looking over your shoulder and wondering if the person behind you was the one; it was making her paranoid and edgy.

  “Great, I’m a creepy, paranoid kook,” she muttered, taking another sip of coffee.

  Creepy was one thing. Don’t get her wrong, Desdemona always liked creepy, and always had a fondness for the things that went bump in the night. It was just her ‘thing’ in life. It even influenced her career path in life and the way she dressed. As a child she always wanted to know what came after death. Was there more? Now she was the death doctor, and it was her job to figure out how someone came to the end of their existence.

  Desdemona laughed, as she thought about her life.The Medical Examiner who lived alone, dressed all in black and thought she was being followed.

  How the hell did she pass the FBI psych profile?

  Maybe the way she dressed was the outlet she desperately needed. In life she shrank from attention, but when it came to dressing, she enjoyed being center stage. Some called her clothing Goth, but she just thought it was fun and easier. Black was not only slimming, but easy to match to everything in a wardrobe. As for the big clunky shoes or the giant heels, they had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with height.

  At five foot five, she had to look up at her bosses and felt like she needed to be on equal footing. Her first week working with them, she went home with a wicked crick in her neck every night and decided enough was enough. Out came the heels and she’d at least lose the munchkin status in the workplace.

  Ethan Blackhawk stood a whole foot above her and then his wife… She was a whole other story.

  The first day she met Elizabeth Blackhawk, the only thing that she could think of was ‘holy shit the woman was intimidating’. Everyone in the lab talked about their boss. There were plenty of warnings, some that worried her, and some that she didn’t think would affect her.

  Then she met her.

  Elizabeth walked into the lab to meet her, and she wasn’t anything that she expected. There were visions of a FBI suit, gun, black glasses and a serious attitude. Well, the toughness was there, but so were the cowboy boots, a belt buckle and an Amazon woman standing at just six feet tall.

  This was her boss? Oh boy.

  Then there was the simple fact that when she stood next to Elizabeth, she felt like the ugly duckling. Desdemona wasn’t unattractive, but she wasn’t Elizabeth Blackhawk beautiful. All the men that she dated fell for her because she was unique and cute. It was the mix of black and red hair and the green cat colored eyes. On a good day she was pretty, on a bad day Desdemona was a Goth-y mess. But her boss… Yeah, if she wasn’t intimidated by the stories she heard, then she was by how gorgeous Elizabeth was in person.

  Director Elizabeth Blackhawk seemed friendly enough, but the icy blue eyes seemed to stare right though you into your soul. As if she was measuring the person hidden beneath in some sort of silent assessment, and she was deciding if you were friend or foe. Yeah, inadequate wasn’t far from how she felt around her.

  Intimidated, nervous, and plain scared shitless.

  In the four months Desdemona had worked with her, she tried to be friendly, but she just wasn’t good at making friends. People who stand around with their hands deep in the guts of a dead body weren’t exactly the people you wanted to hang out with. Elizabeth just seemed unapproachable. Desdemona had even asked her supervisor, if the hardness was because Elizabeth was pregnant. Maybe it was some hormonal thing that she didn’t quite understand.

  Chris Leonard laughed at that, telling her that Elizabeth Blackhawk had been known to kick ass regularly, and that pregnancy actually mellowed her out.

  So, Desdemona stopped trying to get to know the woman, and just hoped she’d stay under the radar and not do anything that would piss the bosses off.

  Ethan Blackhawk was a totally different story. Yeah, he was something. The tan skin, the dark blue-black eyes and the smile were stunning. When he called to ask a question, there were little butterflies in her stomach. The sexy radar went off the charts, and then it promptly stopped when she remembered his wife.

  Director Special Agent Ethan Blackhawk had a very deadly looking, ass kicking, body hiding wife that could drop kick all one hundred and five pounds of her back to Quantico easily.

  Desdemona laughed out loud. Okay that was a definite exaggeration, but that’s the impression one would get. There were rumors around the lab that Elizabeth Blackhawk wasn’t to be messed with, and she believed each one of them.

  Preservation demanded it.

  As a scientist she was a firm believer in the theory of ‘survival of the fittest’. Her survival depended on staying out of Elizabeth Blackhawk’s range and under the radar.

  Walking through her house, she admired the grandness of it. Growing up as a kid she was poor. No, that’s not true. She was three levels below poor. The Bayou wasn’t exactly a place of riches and wealth. The people there were simple, and they liked it that way. When she worked for a few years, she realized that her career wasn’t going to go away, and it was okay to spend some of her salary. When she moved to FBI West, and Doctor Leonard gave her the salary being offered for the position, she really relaxed. Yeah, the house was an investment, but at the time the stalker had been leaving her alone.

  Damn it! Didn’t she deserve to have something she loved? Why was her life so void of happiness and friendship? Deep down she wanted to trust, but in the same recesses of her heart where she longed to fit in, she also knew it was never going to happen.

  Doctor Desdemona Adare was destined to be a loner. But now all she really wanted was to have a safe place to call home. She’d forgo the love and friendship to just be safe.

  It was her secret hope and dream.

  Running her fingers up the mahogany banister, she appreciated every single thing in her house and cherished it all. This was her home, and from the top of the line security system to the dog she planned on buying. She was going to feel secure.

  One way or another.

  Standing in her closet, she looked through all the clothes and settled on the most logical for the weather. Dressing, she glanced into the mirror and smiled. Yeah, her choice was a little silly, especially when you worked for the FBI, but it made her smile. And that’s what mattered.

  Life was too short to be what other’s wanted you to be.

  Desdemona Adare gave up trying to fit in, and now all she was striving for was to just find the one thing that she prayed was achievable.

  Happiness.

  Red River

  The previous afternoon

  Red River was a tiny town just outside the snowy mountains. Nothing earth shattering ever happened there, and that was what James Duffy liked most about it. As sheriff of the town, he could come and go as he wanted, and take the day off if he so desired. Red River was a living, breathing quintessential Norman Rockwell painting, and that’s how he hoped it would always stay.

  Strolling back into his office, after taking the morning off, he found that everyone that was suppos
ed to be on duty was indeed there. Sheila Court, his secretary, was busy filing some reports that the deputies had completed earlier in the day. Julian Littlemoon was sitting at his desk, filling out his logs for the day.

  “Jimmy,” she said, nodding. “How was your morning off?”

  Sheriff James Duffy tipped his cowboy hat and considered the question. “Well, I got wood hauled in, and I managed to sneak in a nap too,” he said, grinning the good ole boy smile that always worked with the ladies.

  “Lucky you,” Sheila Court answered back, cracking her gum. Working for Duffy was a mixed blessing. There was the truly awesome part of having a hot boss to think about all day, and then there was the bad part. James Duffy was a skirt chaser. He’d chase, catch, sleep with and then move on to the next skirt. Where she liked her men to be a little more monogamous, and a lot less tag them and bed them.

  Red River was a tiny town, and there weren’t really any eligible bachelors worth the time or effort. The town bordered an Indian Reservation, and quite a few Natives worked in town. Not that she cared either way, but she didn’t really find Indian men sexy. She liked them blue-eyed, blonde, and less smart than herself. That way she could use the fine art of manipulation.

  Flirt, wink, and buy me a drink. It was easy and she liked easy. Native men took too much effort, and that was time spent not focused on her.

  “Yeah, I guess I am lucky,” Duffy answered, heading into his office. “I’m going to take care of some paperwork. Why don’t you call it a day, Sheila? It seems pretty quiet here, and it looks like there might be some snow coming tonight. I think I can answer my own phone for the rest of shift.”

  “Thanks Jimmy. I think I will,” she said, standing. “But if you need anything, you give me a call you hear?”

  James Duffy knew why she’d want the call. Sheila was a good person, but she also was a tad bit on the gossip-y side. When she wanted to dig for information, she would find it like a pig on a truffle hunt. The Sheriff grinned as he thought about that analogy, and how it would get his ass kicked if she even got wind of it. So it was best to just keep it his own private joke in his head. The blonde was high maintenance and would shit a ton of bricks if she heard herself being compared to a pig.