Necessary Lies (Men of Phantom, #1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Necessary Lies (Men of Phantom, #1)
The Men of Phantom Series | Lies • Obsessions • Revenge • Power
acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
BRYAN’S INTERLUDE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Bryan and Danielle’s Story Continues | In the second novel in the | Men of Phantom Series | Lies You Tell | Coming in April 2017
CHAPTER ONE
The Men of Phantom Series
Lies • Obsessions • Revenge • Power
I dedicate this to my moon and my sun, my daughters Jai’Lauren and Jos’Lynne. You have to crawl before you walk; walk before you run; then run so you can leap over the hurdles and cross the finish line.
To my heroine, a strong Black woman, my mom, Jacqueline, for whom I got my love for reading.
And to my dear friend, Joan Goldman, who encouraged me to share my love for writing with others.
acknowledgments
I’m so grateful to my family, extended family, and friends for their love, support, and encouragement as I labored for two years to get the story just right. Thank you for keeping me uplifted. Some of you may see a few characteristics of yourself in this book. This was done out of love and appreciation. It would take a chapter to list everyone, but I must list some of the individuals and their contributions. Jonathan, thank you for traveling to Boulder, Colorado with me to take pictures of the locations described in my book. That drive up to a ski resort 10,000 feet above sea level was scary, but what an experience! Joelle, the amateur photographer, thank you for the shots at the beach, sorry about the tar that got stuck to the bottom of your foot. Paula, thank you for inviting me to a book club meeting to talk about my book. And my friend LaTara, thank you for offering to “windmill” on those who tried to steal my joy.
IAMJACKIRENÉE.COM website is the product of the vision and talents of Kenward Romero. Thank you for your generosity.
A big thank you to critique partners: Michal Scott, LJ Kendall, and the talented members of KOD’s Lethal Ladies. And an overly curious coworker who just couldn’t wait until the book was edited and published, Cynthia Guerrero.
A special thank you to the enterprising team of The Killion Group, Inc. Their experience and support kept me from going into full panic mode.
My deepest gratitude to Mr. Patrick Hansen (Hansen’s Cakes), General Motors, and University of Colorado Boulder (CU).
PROLOGUE
30 June 2013 0345 hours CDT 32.7767° N, 96.7970° W
Buzz
Buzz
Buzz
Untangling myself from the naked woman wrapped around me, I roll out of bed, grab my briefcase and walk out of the room. The bedroom door closes behind me. I can’t ignore the vibrations of the cell phone.
“VRS identification.” Riley doesn’t wait for a greeting.
I clear my throat, and walk down the dark hallway toward the living room. “Kilo. Zero. Two. Alpha. One. One. Zero. Six. Hotel.”
Voice Recognition Software verifies my identity.
“FRS identification,” Riley requests.
I hold the phone out in front of me. The camera focuses. Facial Recognition Software confirms my identity.
“Good morning, Colonel Hawk. At zero two hundred hours, a United States Army soldier crossed the Syrian border onto Israeli soil without proper authorization. Request permission to transmit video footage.”
Street lamps provide enough light in the semi-dark room. I sit on the sofa, push the half-full wine glasses to the side and set the briefcase on the coffee table. Placing my right hand on the security panel of the laptop, I allow a scanner to verify my prints, and the military laptop turns on.
“Permission granted.” I yawn.
A hawk glides onto the screen, its wings spread wide, talons ready to strike. The image of a man dressed in a tattered U.S. Army combat uniform fills the screen. I’m wide awake now.
The American soldier sits on a metal chair in a dingy, windowless, closet-sized room. Two armed Israeli soldiers stand nearby. There’s no audio, and from this camera angle I can’t read their lips. Military training tells me they’re questioning him.
To the untrained eye, it looks as if the American is handcuffed to the chair. One Israeli soldier approaches. Gun raised. The American lets him get within range, grabs the soldier, flipping back in the chair, and takes the man over, snapping his neck. He grabs the gun, then fires two shots into the head of the other Israeli soldier before the chair hits the floor.
Pushing the dead man off, the American jumps to his feet and changes uniforms.
He takes their guns, then leaves the room. The video stops.
I already know the answer, but I ask anyway. “Identity of U.S. Army soldier?”
“Sergeant James Andrew Edwards.”
“How was his identity confirmed?”
“DNA-fingerprints in the room.”
“What’s his current location?”
“Location unknown. He successfully escaped.”
“Contact the pilot. I’m going to Arizona from here.” I reach for the overnight bag I left sitting in the chair when I got here. “Have Sweepers ready to clean up and alert Watchers. I want eyes on Edwards.” I pull clean clothes out of the bag and start dressing.
“Roger that, sir.” The line goes dead.
When I finish the laces on my boots, I close the briefcase, then grab the cell phone and overnight bag. I don’t bother with goodbyes; the sleeping woman is conditioned to me coming and going.
While speed dialing my superior, I walk out the apartment door.
“Sir, this is Bryan. I’m moving Danielle and Kourtney to Boulder.”
I don’t believe in ghosts. James Edwards should be dead. I know this because I’m the one who put a bullet in his head and another in his chest eight years ago.
CHAPTER ONE
Boulder, Colorado September 16, 2013
“Good evening. Welcome to Back to School Night. My name is Malinda Williamson. I’m your child’s second grade teacher.”
“Good evening. I’m Danielle Edwards, Kourtney’s mom.” I shake hands with Ms. Williamson standing at the door to the classroom.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Edwards,” she says, then greets the people behind us.
“Show me around, Kourtney.” I hold my hand out to my daughter and we walk into the spacious classroom.
“I sit here. Emma sits next to me and Penelope sits up there.” She points t
o the seat in front of hers.
“I’m happy you’re making friends, sweetie.” I give her hand a gentle squeeze.
“The other kids aren’t very nice,” she whispers. “The boy who sits next to Penelope sticks his tongue out at me all the time.”
“Do you want me to speak to his parents?” I whisper back.
She leads me to the language and writing center where we spend a few seconds admiring her graded English work posted on one wall. In the math area, she points out the perfect score she got on today’s math test. In the humanities center, she reads the social topic for the week. And in the art center, amongst the gallery of various art pieces, she briefly brags about Emma’s drawing of the three best friends. The little girl has talent.
In the science center, Kourtney takes her time to explain the process of photosynthesis and the experiment she’s working on for the science fair. Two of the four plants we purchased at a nursery are flourishing. She shows me her daily journal and the equipment she’s using to prove her hypothesis. Big words for a seven-year-old, but she’s a math and science buff, and I encourage it. The rest of the classroom is not important. This is where Kourtney wants to show me around. And this is where I want to be.
“Parents, if you would please find a seat. It’s exactly five o’clock and we can begin our classroom meeting,” Ms. Williamson calls out.
A migration of parents and students move toward empty chairs. My attention is drawn to the man leading a pretty little brunette to the desk next to my daughter’s.
My heart pounds. Stomach jumps. An impression flashes in my mind. Immediately my eyes drop to his thick, muscular thighs encased in jeans.
Mouth goes dry.
Oblivious to what’s happening around me, I watch him like a thirsty woman covets a tall drink of cold water. Let’s face it. I’m thirsty and could use a cold drink of him.
Nodding is his form of communication with the few parents who greet him. He’s protective and paternal holding hands with his daughter.
He pulls out his child’s chair and waits for her to sit before pushing the chair closer to the desk. I’ll give him brownie points for being a gentleman.
Across the room, I watch in amused fascination as two moms gravitate toward him. Childless. Determined to get his attention. Good luck, ladies.
“Hi, Emma,” my daughter greets the little brunette. “This is my mom.”
Emma gives me a small wave and a timid smile. Out of instinct, I want to wrap my arms around her, but I settle for a return smile while studying her features.
Her father’s smile shines in his eyes, as he stands up to greet us. “Hello, Kourtney, I’ve heard a lot about you.” His tone takes on a more personal note. He winks at me and I become entranced by the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man.
A disgruntled whisper floats behind us, and two men approaching the desk in front of us distract me from speaking.
“Hi, I’m Max. This is my husband, Tom, and our daughter, Penelope.” The stylishly dressed man grasps my hand in both of his. Their raven-haired daughter stands in between them.
I shake hands with both men as I introduce myself.
“It’s good to see you, Bryan. Where have you been hiding?” Max asks.
“Work,” he says, but keeps his eyes on me.
Hiding, huh? Interesting choice of words.
“Once again, I’d like to welcome you to Back to School Night,” the teacher announces, and we take our seats. “I’m excited about my first year here. I’m originally from Dallas, Texas, where I taught second grade for six years. Tonight I will review the curriculum, classroom rules, school events, and parental expectations.”
My mind wanders back to Bryan. I shift in the seat as I run my fingers through my hair. I try to stop the fantasies from clouding my reaction to seeing him, but for a minute or more, I allow myself to bask in the visions.
Bryan looks down at his cell phone, chuckles, and glances my way. I turn in pretense of paying attention to Ms. Williamson. I refuse to dip my head in shame. Men aren’t as discreet when they’re eyeing a woman.
“Many of you have completed your required monthly volunteer hours and I thank you for your time. A couple of you are a few hours short and I have a solution that’ll put you ahead for the rest of the school year. This brings me to the next topic. The school’s annual Halloween celebration.” She walks over to her desk and picks up two file folders. “This year the teaching staff decided to have a classroom-decorating contest judged by our principal and board advisors. I am appointing the parents with the lowest volunteer hours to come up with the theme and decorations for our classroom.” She looks directly at Bryan. “Mr. Hawk, you will do us the honor of heading up the parent committee.”
“Thank you for asking, Ms. Williamson. This isn’t the best time, but I’ll sponsor the event.”
“I appreciate your offer, Mr. Hawk, but I didn’t ask. I’m letting you know I’ve selected you to head up the parent committee,” she rebuts. “The decorations are to be made using recycled materials, and you must stick to a small monetary budget. Your time is required for this event, not your money. I’m sure you’ll receive lots of support from the parent I’ve appointed to aid you.”
His mouth turns down and shoulders stiffen the more she talks. Everyone in the room grows quiet as we witness the tug-of-war between busy, hiding parent and demanding teacher. I hope the other parent is more agreeable.
“Bryan, I’ll be more than happy to offer my ass...” The woman fake sneezes. “Excuse me. I’m happy to accommodate you in any position you put me in.”
All heads turn to the woman seated behind me. I look over my shoulder and am greeted with a fake smile from the bottled redhead, whose eyelash extensions show off green contact lenses, fake beauty mark beside collagen lips, and fake boobs falling out of a low-cut blouse.
“Thanks, Mrs. Brooks, but Dr. Edwards will be happy to take on the task. She’s trailing in volunteer hours, too.”
My head snaps to the front of the classroom.
Wait. What? Me work with him? On a project? Not in this lifetime.
“Aren’t you, Dr. Edwards?” Ms. Williamson asks, sugar dripping from her tone.
Kourtney bounces in her seat, pleading with her eyes for me to accept.
“Um. Yes. I can assist Mr. Hawk.”
“Great! I know you two can come up with something prize-winning. Here’s the information you’ll need.” She walks over and hands each of us a folder. “Your idea has to be approved before you start. The proposal is due on Thursday, and as you can see, Mr. Hawk, your budget is one hundred dollars. Now, I’d like to bring to your attention, the school’s zero tolerance rules on bullying...”
Ms. Williamson continues, but my attention is diverted. I’m ducking and dodging the eye daggers I feel being thrown in my back by Fake-Boobs.
I’m not shy, but I prefer to remain in the background—only now I’ve been thrown smack dab in the middle of the ring with Bryan Hawk. Inwardly, I cringe.
CHAPTER TWO
Back to School Night is over. Bryan and I are walking toward the parking lot with our children.
“We’re going to the Play ‘n’ Fun Center tonight for pizza and video games. Come with us. We can plan while they play,” Bryan suggests.
“Is your home number listed in the classroom directory? I can call you tomorrow and we can come up with a proposal over the phone,” I counter.
“Please, Mom. Can we go?”
Her hope-filled eyes punch me in the stomach.
“Don’t you have homework?” Can I deny her pizza and video games with her— mentally I correct myself —best friend?
“We didn’t get any because of the meeting.”
I curse the day you left Texas, Malinda Williamson.
“The Play ‘n’ Fun Center?” I look up at him.
There’s that heated smile again, making my thighs squeeze together.
“It’s across the street from the mall,” he says.
> “We moved to Boulder two months ago. Other than my apartment, the school, work, and the grocery store, I don’t really know my way around.”
“I’ll follow you to your apartment to drop off your car. You guys can ride with us.”
I want to be in control of when we leave. “No, thank you. I prefer following you there.”
The girls hold hands, whispering and giggling between us as we navigate the parking lot full of parents, children, and cars.
He gestures to a black Suburban blocking in my Range Rover.”
As we get closer to our trucks, I push the button on the key fob to unlock the doors. Like a gentleman, Bryan opens the back door for Kourtney.
“Thank you, Mr. Hawk,” she says.
“Call me, Bryan, Kourt.” He closes the door. “Here.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me a business card. “In case we get separated.” He opens my door.
In the rearview mirror, I watch Bryan walk to his truck and hold the door open for Emma. Once he closes the door and climbs into the driver’s seat, I back out of the stall and follow him.
Did he mean separated as in forced apart or wanting to be apart?
I push aside that voice in my head telling me to go home.
“Emma’s dad is nice, huh, Mom?”
“I guess so, honey.” Those words tickle my throat causing me to cough.
“Do you think he’s cute?”
“Tell me more about the experiment you’re working on for the science fair.”
Kourtney’s project revolves around ideas on how she can save our planet once she becomes President of the United States. She uses the scientific names for the plants and explains why she chose them. Recycled materials for Halloween decorations is something she’ll get into.
Now and then she throws in a question about the man we’re following and I reply with a question about materials we can use for the project.
When we cross an intersection, I realize the main street runs near our apartment.
“Do you think the class will like making decorations?” I ask, turning into the parking lot of the Play ‘n’ Fun Center.
“Emma will. She’s really good in art.”
I park in the stall next to Mr. Hawk. He’s helping Emma out of the backseat, then rushes to open our doors.