Touch of Betrayal, A

by Charles, L. J

  Mitch shrugged. “Both the truck and Jeep were outside.”

  “Yeah, but they’re sneaky. Especially Pierce. And they didn’t argue when I claimed this op as mine.” I glanced at the baby monitor. “Look, Annie’s sleeping in Maddie’s room. Can’t be much going on, or she’d be in her secret room monitoring stuff.”

  I yawned, big and unladylike. “How about you get your stuff from my bathroom, and bunk in the television room at the end of the hallway? You’ll be within yelling distance of my room, and—”

  “Still give you some space,” he said, finishing my sentence.

  “Yeah. Breathing space. Maybe I’ll meditate.”

  He gave me a sloppy hug and made for the bedroom. I stood there, the night settling around me. For a long time I was lost in memories of what Mitch and I once had, but the pain of betrayal hadn’t diminished in the last twenty-four hours. How could it have all been a lie? Even though Mitch had confused love with protection, there had been a wonderful sense of comfort in our relationship, of belonging. And I missed it.

  I went back to the refrigerator, snagged the bottle of Moscato, and poured a glass. It would go well with a long soak in the tub, and maybe I’d have a prayer of falling asleep without dreaming about gang warfare, or debating if I should have let Mitch share my room. Life was a pain in the ass when every available choice had crappy consequences.

  Morning sunlight warmed Annie’s living room when I opened the door for Whitney, stepping back to usher her inside. She filled the entryway, towering over my five-sixish frame. “Thanks for driving to this side of the island to help me. I know traffic’s a bear,” I said, stretching to my full height, my fingers tightening around Annie’s Kershaw blade. I bounced on tiptoes for a second, and then rolled my shoulders back. This woman radiated warrior genes. I wanted some, planned to earn them.

  “Happy to help one of Detective Stone’s friends.” She held up her hand, the one holding three knife sheaths. “Ready to work? And I see you’re contributing to our arsenal.”

  A shiver of anticipation tickled my nape. Definitely ready. “Yep, a gift from Annie. Let’s go through the kitchen so I can introduce you to Adam’s sister and his niece.”

  Annie was sitting in the playpen with Maddie, and they both looked up when we entered the kitchen. Annie stood, stepped over the railing, and faced Whitney.

  Female predators.

  I’d been confined in enough small spaces with Pierce, Adam, and Mitch to recognize testosterone-laden air, but those situations had been nothing compared to the levels of estrogen emanating from these two warrior women.

  Damn, but I was going to work my butt off until they called me sister.

  Swallowing my awe, I managed to eke out some words. “Annie, this is Detective Whitney Boulay of the HPD. Whitney, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Annie Stone Martin, Adam’s sister and retired-d…” I stuttered to a stop. Super-spy probably wasn’t a good word choice.

  Whitney offered her hand. “Law enforcement. It’s bloody clear you’ve served your time, Martin.”

  “Same goes, Boulay. Glad you’re going to help Everly.” She bent to pick Maddie up. “I’ve been out of the business for more than a year now. This is my daughter, Madigan.”

  Oddly, the estrogen level in the room spiked. I narrowed my gaze on Maddie. What was going on behind those innocent eyes? She reached for Whitney, and Annie’s forehead wrinkled. “Maddie doesn’t usually go to strangers.”

  Whitney blinked, and then offered the bundle of sheathed knives to Annie. “Trade you. Don’t want to introduce myself to your daughter with a handful of weapons.”

  Annie shared a silent communication with Maddie, then handed her over. “Sure. It’s been a while since I’ve held a superior knife.”

  That was a blatant lie. Annie kept her skills in top form, and I had no doubt she’d been to the firing range, and sparred with both Adam and Sean within the last week. Maybe even with Pierce. I bit my tongue. Could be I was learning when to keep my mouth shut.

  I stood back and watched as Annie looked over each of the knives, testing them for who knew what, while Whitney shared baby-cooing noises with Maddie. I’d pocketed my phone before I left the bedroom, and now slipped my hand around it, thinking about taking a picture. One glance from Annie and I thought better of it. Apparently, she didn’t want it on record that she looked euphoric when she handled knives. I only hoped that by the end of my session with Whitney, I’d have a similar expression instead of looking horror-struck.

  Whitney handed Maddie back to her mom. “Time to work. Back yard?”

  I nodded.

  Annie shook her head. “Basement. There’s a room…follow me.”

  Shock triggered a wave of heat and hurt. Another hidden room? My stomach roiled with confusion. Why hadn’t Annie shared all of her house with me? I could sort of understand about the security control room, because that was ingrained from living a covert life. But a sparring area?

  She didn’t look at me as she led the way down the hall to a bookcase, eased a book from a shelf, and typed a code on a keypad. The bookcase slid into a wall pocket.

  My stomach did another flip-flop. Intrigue at its worst. “That is so cliché.” Yep, my inner bitch was alive and well.

  Annie grinned, holding my gaze. “Exactly. So cliché as to be unnoticeable. That was the plan.”

  “Damn good plan,” Whitney said, heading down the stairs.

  I hesitated. Training outside in broad daylight was one thing, locked in a secret room with Whitney Boulay? Something else altogether.

  Annie touched my shoulder. “It’s a safe place. I’ll take Maddie upstairs so we can monitor your practice session. If Whitney leaves anything out, I’ll fill in the gaps after she leaves. This is your new life, El, and there’s no way I’d allow you to train outside in plain view of any aircraft flying overhead.

  Well, damn. “That’s beyond cautious. It’s—”

  “Paranoid.” She finished my sentence. “A good thing to be if you want to stay alive. This isn’t a simple homicide-slash-abduction like it was with Mitch’s friend.”

  My stomach clenched. “Yeah, I get that. And it’s more complex than facing down a psychotic woman with a fondness for blowing up buildings. But I’ve been dealing with the fallout from my mother’s toxic formula for a while now.”

  Annie shook her head. “Yes, but not like this. You have trained, skilled people chasing you who want to rape your mind. And I can’t be there to cover your back. Not like I could before Madigan.”

  “Hey,” Whitney called from downstairs. “This is a great room, except I’m missing a sparring partner and time is short.”

  “Be right there,” I yelled, and then turned back to Annie.

  Love shone behind her eyes and a hefty dose of worry marked the lines around her mouth. I wrapped my arms around her and Maddie in a group hug. “Love you, too.”

  I hustled downstairs, the bookcase silently sliding closed behind me.

  The staircase opened to a large room, half the floor covered in mats, the other half wood. There were no windows, but the room was brightly alive with overhead fluorescent lights. Weapons of all kinds lined the back wall, holding my attention and stealing my breath.

  Whitney pointed to a row of cabinets along one side of the room. “Hand guns, rifles, assault weapons, and knives,” she said, flicking her finger at each one as she named them. “I’m a bit jealous.”

  Some of the tension eased from my shoulders. “Yeah, Annie’s…prepared.”

  Whitney motioned me to a table at the near end of the room. “I brought three knives with me, and I’d rather use them than raid Martin’s arsenal.” She waved toward a mounted wall display. “You get used to the feel, the balance of a knife. I always work with a new weapon for a while before I depend on it to defend myself. At the end of our practice you can swap out for the Kershaw to see how you like it.”

  “I know nothing about this, so whatever you say goes.” I set Annie’s knife on the
table and put up my ESP shields before I touched the red plastic knife closest to me. “What’s this?”

  Whitney smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Training knife. I’d rather you didn’t cut me right off.”

  I sucked in a sputtering breath. “I’m not going to cut you.”

  “You might. Before we’re done, you’re going to have time with both the Benchmade 9101 and the Smith and Wesson boot knife. The Benchmade is only available to law enforcement and the military. The S and W is used by the FBI Hostage Rescue Team.”

  “Maybe this is a bad idea. I’m only going to learn enough in a few hours to hurt one of us, and I’m good with a gun.”

  Whitney nodded. “True. A gun gives you the advantage of distance and cover. What happens if your attacker gets control of your gun, but you still have the S and W in your ankle sheath?”

  She had a point. “Okay. How do you want to do this?”

  Two seconds later I was on the floor, Whitney holding the training knife at my neck. Stiff with fear, my heart beating hard in my throat, I gulped down the urge to upchuck and glared at her.

  She backed off. “Okay, now let’s go through the steps, and then you can practice that move on me. The proper knife grip is diagonally across the palm.”

  I practiced my grip while I listened.

  “People tend to protect the throat and stomach because they’re the most vulnerable psychologically. A thrust at the hollow of the neck, right below the Adam’s apple is a good choice if you have a clear shot, as are slashes on either side of the neck. You have to hit the jugular with those. The heart is an instant kill, but a difficult hit because of the ribs. The stomach offers a large target, but death is slower. The kidneys are a good choice from the back. You won’t have time to think if you’re being attacked, so we’ll go over these scenarios, and practice until they’re automatic for you.”

  An hour later, I was drenched in sweat, grooving with an adrenaline high, and had become close friends with the red plastic knife.

  “Grateful for my years of martial arts training, I am.” It was a poor imitation of Yoda, but Whitney grinned.

  Two hours later I had a bloody cut on my left arm, discovered muscles in my right arm I never knew I had, and hated the Benchmark with a nauseating revulsion.

  Whitney wasn’t even breathing hard.

  Three hours and a liter of water later, the Kershaw was my friend, exhaustion had weakened every muscle I owned, and Whitney was gonna have to pry the Smith and Wesson boot knife out of my cold, dead hand. It. Was. Mine.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Annie called down from the kitchen, letting us know our three-hour sparring time was up. Whitney took one look at me, a huge grin on her face. “So, you’re keeping the Smith and Wesson?”

  The scent of drying sweat drifted to my nose and my cheeks heated—but my grip on the boot knife didn’t loosen. “I like it.”

  “Consider it a gift, with a blessing from me for wise use and peaceful results.”

  “Thanks. Really, thanks.” I relaxed my hold on the knife, and slipped it into its sheath.

  Annie’s voice rolled down the stairs again. “The guys are here for our meeting, Whitney.”

  “What meeting?” I hollered, jogging up the stairs.

  Whitney was right on my heels, barging into the testosterone-filled kitchen a few seconds behind me. “They’re bringing me up to speed on this morning’s session with the HPD Gang Task Force.”

  “What?” Pressure built at the base of my skull. “No one mentioned an early morning meeting to me.”

  Pierce eyed the knife in my hand. “You were booked.”

  He had a point. Irritating, because the man always had a valid explanation for everything, no matter that he rarely shared said explanations.

  I jerked the chair next to Mitch away from the table, but he stalled me, pointing to the wall clock. “Real estate agent T-minus-thirty.”

  Indecision held me poised over the chair for a full ten seconds before I slid it back under the table. “Okay. Then give me a quick rundown. I thought we’d decided to keep the HPD on a need-to-know leash.”

  “I vetoed that plan while you were out last night.” Annie shot a quick glance at Adam, a cloud of worry passing over her face. “Official law enforcement won’t be in the restaurant with you because the locals would spot them immediately and blow the whole setup. So, I’ve offered to patch them in with a continuous video and audio link.”

  “It’s a solid plan, Belisama.”

  “When gangs are involved, there’s usually multiple injuries, and often a dead body or two.” Adam’s eyes were shadow-dark. “Cleanup would be a cluster without on-the-books help.”

  They appeared relaxed, like the meeting around Annie’s kitchen table was an afternoon coffee klatch, except… “Where’s Maddie?”

  “Next door. I’m going to owe our neighbors a bundle of reciprocal play dates before this is over. Go shower, El, or you’ll be late for your appointment.”

  Pierce winked at me. “Looking hot.”

  The sweat dripping between my breasts sizzled. I swiped at it on my way out of the kitchen. This was no time for sizzling anything.

  Fifteen minutes later, wet hair pulled into a braid, and after a quick check of my cell phone to insure Annie’s surveillance was active, we were ready to go. “We should have a story about why I’m the one signing the papers. Usually both married people sign.”

  Mitch shrugged. “Tell her it’s your inheritance money, and this is an investment.”

  Truth. A novel concept in my life for the past couple of days. “Good idea. And the truth for once.” I hiked myself into the passenger seat of Mitch’s truck. He held the door for me, leaning in, and then wrapped his hand around my neck.

  I stiffened, but he held tight, brushing my ear with his lips. “Don’t forget when we’re in the truck we’re on camera, and every word is being recorded.”

  A delicate shiver spread down my neck. I rubbed at it, pushing him away. “Tickles,” I said for whoever was listening.

  Could I forgive him? Make our marriage work? Not today, I couldn’t. One year? Ten years? My inner wisdom shouted a resounding no, and then my muddled brain smothered the no with a whispered maybe.

  The first part of the meeting with the realtor was easy, nothing but paperwork, and outlining the things I couldn’t live without. Money doesn’t go far in Hawaii, so I was very grateful for the insurance settlement from my parents’ house. Between that and the profit from selling my townhouse, I was in decent shape.

  I’d decided to go for a condo rather than a house. There was too much time and expense that went with a stand-alone residence, and I wanted to focus on rebuilding my personal coaching business here in the islands. Eliminating the face-to-face appointments when I moved to Mitch’s house had gone well, and the phone sessions worked, but lacked the human connection I craved.

  I counted on my fingers; three more days until I had to go back to work. I’d blocked a full week off, planning to use the time to walk my parents’ property and accept the loss of my childhood home. Pierce had trashed my plans beyond recognition. Nothing like being thousands of miles from where I’d planned and nowhere near close to finding peace. Plus, four of my vacation days had already passed in a blur of agonizing revelations.

  Pushing aside my busy thoughts, I selected three properties to view. We set off in the realtor’s Honda Accord, because no way was I going to be stuck in Mitch’s truck, having to watch every facial expression and nuance in my voice. Fortunately, we were all on the same page about which vehicle to take, although for wildly different reasons.

  All three of the properties I was interested in were near Turtle Bay, the least expensive coming in at three hundred thousand. I could swing that easily, and have some change for furniture and a few amenities. But it was a dump. I was careful not to touch anything, especially when the walls closed in around me with suffocating persistence. They held the scent of mildew, and I spotted a cockroach on the kitchen counte
r. Granted, Hawaii is tropical, and there would always be a swarm of insects to deal with, but on my kitchen counter? Nope. That didn’t fly. I’d be fitting frequent exterminator services into my monthly budget.

  The second place was decent, had nice hardwood floors, and smelled clean. The real estate agent opened the sliders, letting in a fantastic breeze that carried the sound of the ocean right into the living room. It was going for one million three. I gulped on that one, sucked it up when I considered the view. A terrace opened onto the beach, and the bedroom overlooked a quarter-moon swimming pool that had been nicely landscaped. I put it on my ‘possible’ list.

  The third property was smaller and didn’t have an ocean view, but it shared a white sand beach with the Turtle Bay Resort. I could live with that, and with a price tag of five hundred thousand it wouldn’t completely drain my savings. The condo itself had huge windows that let in a ton of light, gorgeous tile floors, and vaulted ceilings that gave the impression of wide-open space. Bad thing: the bedroom had ugly carpeting. That could be replaced with the kind of bamboo floors I’d come to love while staying at Annie’s. There was a loft that called to me, and when the realtor opened the bedroom slider a chicken strolled by.

  I was home.

  Except for the final test. I needed to touch the walls and see if they had anything to tell me. Or show me.

  I whirled to face the real estate agent, grinning. “I’d like to put a deposit down.”

  She whipped out a sheaf of paperwork. “Let’s fill these out, and then I’ll run over to the office to make copies and let them know it’s under contract.”

  Since I didn’t plan to negotiate for a lower price, or file for a bank loan, the business part of the transaction was completed within thirty minutes. I wouldn’t take ownership until the inspection was complete, closing could be scheduled, and the bank wired the appropriate funds. But it was essentially mine. I left her shuffling papers on the kitchen counter, and wandered into the bedroom.