Found_Hamilton's Heroes series
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other books by Annabella Michaels
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Found
Hamilton’s Heroes Series #1
Copyright © 2018 Annabella Michaels
annabellamichaels.blogspot.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover art provided by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art—www.jayscoversbydesign.com
Editing provided by Allison Holzapfel
Proofreading provided by Judy Zweifel of Judy’s Proofreading—www.judysproofreading.com
Interior Design and Formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design—www.champagnebookdesign.com
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original publisher only.
This book contains sexually explicit material and is only intended for adult readers.
Copyright and Trademark Acknowledgments
The author acknowledges the copyright and trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks and copyrights mentioned in this work of fiction:
USAF Pararescuemen
The Ford Motor Company
Chevrolet Division of General Motor Company
Jeep- a division of FCA US LLC
Mayberry- The Andy Griffith Show: Danny Thomas Enterprises
USAF Special Op Command (UFSOC)
Air Combat Command (ACC)
Moby Dick- Herman Melville: Harper & Brothers
Chicago PD
Possible trigger warnings: This book contains situations of child abuse, physical violence and substance abuse which may be disturbing to some readers.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other books by Annabella Michaels
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Souls Of Chicago Series:
Feeding the Soul, Book 1
Music of the Soul, Book 2
Protecting the Soul, Book 3
Renewing the Soul, Book 4
Contructing the Soul, Book 5
Uniting the Souls, Book 6
Ever-Greene, Book 7 (A holiday novella)
To Lori, the original Southern Mama. Thank you for your unwavering friendship, support and encouragement. You are an incredible woman and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.
Also, to Ardie. Without you, so much of this book would not have been possible. I love and miss you more than you could possibly know.
Seven Years Earlier
I wobbled as I stood from the bed and my stomach lurched when I leaned back down to grab my shirt. I pressed my lips between my teeth and breathed through my nose for a minute, waiting for the nausea to pass.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider? At least stay until you’re steadier on your feet,” Stacey pleaded. Without thinking, I pulled my shirt over my head too quickly, causing me to suck in a sharp breath as the fabric scraped along the still healing wounds on my face.
Dr. Gregory had removed my bandages earlier that morning then handed me a small mirror as he once again went over the multiple surgeries they’d performed to fix the damage done to my face. I tried to listen, but I’d taken one look at the swollen skin and the angry red scars and I’d begun to shake at the visual reminder of a night so violent, it was a wonder I was still alive.
He assured me that once the swelling went down and the scars had a chance to heal, that my face would look much better, although he cautioned that I would probably look different than before. I just needed to rest and give my body time to recover from the trauma it had been through, he instructed. The problem was, I’d already been there a month and I was going out of my mind with the need to escape.
Dr. Gregory stood and reached a hand out as if to lay on my shoulder but pulled away when he saw me visibly flinch. The staff had learned early on that I didn’t like to be touched and they had been respectful, only touching me when absolutely necessary.
I’d told them very little about myself. They’d brought the police and the hospital psychologist in to try and get me to talk about what had happened to me, but I’d kept silent. There was too much at risk for me to open up to anyone about what had happened.
“Get some rest,” he said gently, but I could see the worry in his eyes when I’d told him that I was checking myself out of the hospital that day. “It’s too soon,” he’d insisted, but time was running out and I needed to get out of there before it was too late. If it wasn’t too late already.
When I refused to budge, he’d had no choice. He frowned as he signed my discharge papers, marking clearly that I was leaving against his orders. Then he’d handed me his card and told me that I could call him day or night if there was any problem. The look in his eyes made it clear that he was talking about more than just medical problems. He was a kind man and he was worried about what would happen to me once I walked out the door. I swallowed hard as I reached for the card.
I nodded, but I knew that no one could save me from what waited for me outside the walls of that hospital. I could only save myself, but there was someone I needed to find first. Someone whose safety was more important to me than my own, and the reason I had to get out of there that day. I’d wasted enough precious time.
“I’m sure,” I mumbled as I turned to face Stacey.
“Okay,” she said, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She’d been my regular nurse since the night I was brought in. She was kind, gentle and caring and I was fortunate to have had her.
“At least take this with you. There’s medications and a bunch of ointment packets along with bandages. You’ll need to keep your scars covered until they’ve had more time to heal.” I nodded my head as I reached for the bag, ignoring the sadness in her eyes.
I headed for the door, but Stacey stopped me before I could leave. “Um, we all pitched in and put a little something together for you. It’s in the bag as well.”
“Thank you,” I answered woodenly. The staff at the hospital had been nothing but kind to me, but accepting kindness felt foreign to me and I still wasn’t quite sure how.
I clutched the handles of the bag as I walked down the long
white corridor towards the front door. The same door where I had been found, unconscious and bleeding, a month before. No one had a clue how I’d come to be there, but they’d whisked me inside and patched me up to the best of their abilities. I knew that patching the inside of me was an impossibility though. The cuts that had been placed there, the damage inflicted, was too great for even the most skilled surgeon to repair.
The doors swished open and I stepped outside. The sun seemed too bright for my eyes and the noises all around me seemed too loud as I was suddenly drawn back into the real world. It struck me then that even though my entire world had been turned upside down, nothing else had changed. People still rushed to their jobs each morning, stopping to grab a cup of coffee along the way. Bills still came due and everyone still made their plans.
That had always been the problem though, I realized. Whether it was a lack of knowledge, or because they weren’t sure how to help, the earth kept rotating and people went about their daily lives, regardless of what was happening behind the closed doors of their neighbors’ houses.
Shaking off my depressing thoughts, I opened the bag and reached inside for the envelope. My eyes widened at the cash inside. It wasn’t a lot, but I was sure it would be enough to get us away from there. Feeling grateful to the doctors and nurses, I pulled my shoulders back and headed off in the direction of our house.
I prayed that he wouldn’t be there, that he had listened to me and gotten away like I’d told him to. If that were the case, I’d search the world over to find him. But if by some cruel twist of fate, he was still there, I’d get him out. There was no other choice. He was all I had left in the world; the only thing that mattered.
Seven years later
With a frustrated sigh, I turned on my signal and checked my mirrors before easing over to the next lane, my speed slowing as I took the exit ramp. I’d really hoped to make it to Columbus before night fall, but my eyes had begun to swim in front of me and my stomach had started rumbling about fifty miles back. I’d grab something to eat and drink a gallon of coffee and I’d be good as new, I decided.
I turned right off the exit and scanned the restaurant options available. Unfortunately, the small stop along the highway didn’t offer much in the way of cuisine. A few truck stops and several fast food restaurants seemed to be all that were available, other than the adult entertainment store which I’d seen advertised on countless billboards along the way.
I couldn’t stand fast food, so I pulled into the closest truck stop and killed the engine. Having spent the last six months on the road, I’d learned that most truck stops weren’t like they used to be. Gone were the days of greasy spoons and heartburn-inducing meals. Truck stop restaurants had finally begun to offer healthier, home-style meals, catering to the truck drivers who spent the majority of their time away from their families.
I grabbed my leather bag off the passenger seat and locked up my Jeep before heading inside. Stopping in the restroom first, I quickly took care of business and then washed my hands. My eyes felt gritty, so I splashed some cold water on my face hoping to wake myself up a bit, and then reached for a paper towel. I paused as I caught my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes were bloodshot and dark smudges lined the skin underneath. I gripped the edges of the sink to keep myself from falling as I suddenly started to sway on my feet. Perhaps I should stop for the night and get a fresh start in the morning, I conceded. At the rate I was going, I was going to wind up causing an accident or landing myself in the hospital, and then I’d be no good to anyone.
With the decision made, I tossed the paper towel in the trash and walked out the door. A few minutes later, a waitress showed me to a booth and handed me a menu. I settled in and scanned the selections and by the time she returned with a glass of water, I’d made my choice.
“Are you ready to order, hon?” she asked distractedly, as she pulled a pen and a pad of paper out of the pocket of her apron.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have the grilled pork chop with steamed vegetables and applesauce, please,” I answered. She reached for the menu and I handed it to her, but then stopped her before she could turn away. “One more thing, ma’am. Is there a hotel nearby?” She looked up at me then and her eyes widened. I didn’t miss the way her eyes slowly roamed over me or the way her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip in an obvious invitation.
“There just happens to be one on the other side of the exit. I’m off in an hour if you’d like me to show you where it is,” she purred.
“That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but I think I can find my own way. I just need a place to sleep before I hit the road again,” I explained gently.
“Okay, but if you change your mind, my name is Kim,” she said with a wink then sauntered off with a sway of her hips before I could tell her that that was never going to happen. It wasn’t my first time being hit on by a woman, but the softer sex did nothing for me. I preferred my bed partners to be a little more masculine, with stubble along their jawline that scratched against my own and hard edges instead of soft curves.
I turned my attention to my leather bag and pulled the manila folder from it, wanting to look it over one more time while I waited for my dinner. It wasn’t necessary. I’d looked at it enough over the past five months to have memorized every piece of information in it, not that there was a lot, but something about the picture inside pulled me back over and over again.
The boy in the photo was probably only around sixteen years old, with a gentle smile and dirty-blond hair, but his bright blue eyes held the look of someone twice his age. There was a knowledge and depth in those eyes that should never have been there in someone so young and I’d found myself studying them on more than one occasion and wondering what things the young man could have possibly been through to put that look there.
I thumbed through the other pages in the file. The hospital report, surgery notes and basic information that Micah had given me.
Zane Andrew Wilkinson:
-Twenty-five years old
-5’8” (at eighteen years)
-Blue eyes, dark blond hair
Zane had been eighteen when he was found, barely conscious, outside the emergency room doors of Northwest Memorial Hospital in Illinois, the victim of a vicious beating. There were no witnesses to see who had dropped him off and left him there to fend for himself.
He was rushed into emergency surgery to relieve the swelling in his brain. Extensive reconstructive surgery followed to repair the shattered bones in his cheek and nose, and dental surgery was required to replace the teeth that he’d lost in the attack. Scans of his body showed evidence of multiple healed rib fractures, alerting doctors of a potential history of abuse.
Zane refused to tell anyone his real name and checked himself out a month later, against medical advice.
I’d been intrigued by the young man’s story as soon as Micah had told me about him, and I’d readily agreed to take the case. He’d instructed me that I was to locate Zane and bring him back to Chicago. His only other instruction; I was not to use any force.
That right there had told me that Zane was not considered dangerous, but I’d also gotten the feeling that Zane’s case was more of a personal nature for my boss than the other cases we normally took on. As curious as I was about all of that, it wasn’t my place to question Micah. My job was simply to follow through on my orders, even if those orders had begun to feel like searching for a needle in a haystack.
I’d started my search at the hospital. The law limited what medical information they were able to give me; one nurse, Stacey, had agreed to talk to me about what she remembered of Zane, personally. She had been the nurse assigned to him during the duration of his stay and she told me that he was a nice kid, but sad. He was broken in more ways than one, she’d told me, tears welling up in her eyes.
Stacey told me that Zane was the same age as her younger brother, so she’d felt an immediate connection with him. She’d been worried about what had happened to Zan
e and what he would face once he left the hospital, so she and a few other nurses pooled their money and gave him enough to get him far away from there.
That piece of information had been enough to help me start my search. I’d specialized in search and rescue as a USAF pararescueman, and through my training, I’d learned the best way to find someone was often as simple as learning to think like that person.
Putting myself in the mind of a scared and injured eighteen-year-old with little money, I decided that Zane had most likely taken a bus to leave town. It was the easiest and cheapest way to travel and would have required no I.D.
No one at the bus terminal recognized the picture I’d shown them, not that I’d expected them to after so many years, but I was able to see the different locations he might have been able to get to with the money the nurses had given him. From there, I visited each location, showing his picture and asking questions as I combed the streets. A few people along the way told me that the guy looked familiar. Some even said that he reminded them of a guy that used to work or live near them, but they all ended it the same way; he no longer lived there.
It had been a long and tiring process, and at one point around Christmas I thought I’d finally found a solid lead. It had turned out to be nothing though and I’d felt terrible when I heard the disappointment in Micah’s voice.
As usual, I became absorbed in the information in the file and the eyes looking back at me from the photo. I wasn’t sure how much time I spent staring at it, but a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and I looked up in time to see Kim making her way towards my booth, holding a tray of food over her shoulder. I quickly slid the papers back in the file and shoved it down into my bag.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she said as she laid the food in front of me. My mouth watered at the sight of the delicious meal. “Is there anything else I can get you?”