Reign of Fire

by Casi McLean

  Reign of Fire

  By Casi McLean

  Deep State Mysteries

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Reign of Fire

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Casi McLean

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: casi@casimclean.com Cover Art by Ada Frost

  Deep State Mysteries

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise For Casi McLean

  BLOWN AWAY! By Sandra Daily

  I’d like to be professional and tell you about the plot, characterization, etc., but the only words that come to mind are HOLY COW! This story has it all. It’s the kind of story other authors are going to enjoy reading––and probably be inspired by.

  It’s a story that will stay with any reader for a very long time. I would go as far as to say, it’s the best book I’ve read in a long time…I can’t wait to see where she goes from here. To wrap it up––I’m BLOWN AWAY!

  ToMeTender Reviews by Dianne

  ..A fantasy of romance, of true love knowing no bounds and [Casi McLean] has captured the spirit of love in its purest form, even as her characters must face the bizarre circumstances they met under. From pain to joy, to disbelief to believing in miracles, Ms. McLean has created a finely woven tale that flows like a satiny sheet across the mind and heart. Her writing will make a believer out of even the most skeptical of non-believers in love. Let go of reality and take a stroll back in time.

  A NY Best Seller IMO! By Jet

  This is such a great book. It should be on the best sellers list! I hope everyone buys extras to pass out to friends. I love suspense, thriller, and historical fiction like John Grisham and stuff like the Rembrandt affair by Daniel Silva to give you an idea where my review is coming from.

  This is up there with the best. I am more than halfway through and can’t wait to find out what happens! It has kept my attention (which is typically IMPOSSIBLE). I love how the characters are developed and I’m always surprised at what comes next. Extremely enjoyable. Truly, Casi McLean wrote an amazing story filled with imagination.

  Dedication

  To Patricia––my sister, my confidant, my ally and the only person on earth who truly shares our past––thank you for always believing in me and encouraging me to reach for the stars!

  Chapter One

  Alyssa Rose shifted her gaze in every direction, searching for suspicious bystanders. Her cloak-and-dagger cover had her exit the Capitol through the door next to the ladies’ room. The out-of-character detour might have been an insignificant detail, but evading possible surveillance made her breathe easier. Walking east of the Capitol altered her routine, so a side trip to this particular mail drop provided a prime spot to send her letter under the radar.

  Trembling as she approached her destination, she scrutinized everyone, zeroing in on their eyes. If she observed someone with a shifty gaze or noticed an unusual glance in her direction, she’d walk past the postal box and circle back later. No one could see her mail this letter.

  Taking a deep breath, she slid the envelope from beneath her coat, ran her finger across the address then quickly slipped the letter into the mailbox at the corner of Independence and Pennsylvania. A cold chill slithered around her neck, shooting pins and needles in every direction before tightening the knot already twisting in her stomach. Drawing together the lapels of her royal-blue coat, she snatched the soft cashmere and cast one more glance around before striding across Pennsylvania toward 2nd Street.

  The icy tingle numbing Alyssa to the bone had little to do with the cool March weather. The crisp air might have exacerbated the sensation, but her accidental discovery initiated the anxiety, and she couldn’t erase the images seared into her mind. If anyone discovered what she saw, her very life would be in jeopardy. God, she wished she could un-know what now dominated her thoughts.

  Only a few weeks ago, Alyssa lived a blissful life of naiveté. Her family reared her to hold dear the advantages her country bestowed, and when her senior field trip took the class to Williamsburg, Virginia, she experienced a strong sense of patriotism that continued to blossom.

  Wyatt, her brother, fanned the fire blazing in her belly. Despite his horrendous accident in Afghanistan, his love for country burned eternal. If anything, the explosion that took his legs fanned the flames, and he encouraged Alyssa to use her skills to fight for a better country from within the body that created the laws. An intern job would help her learn policy to springboard to a political profession and open doors where she could make a real difference.

  She worked her butt off long and hard to secure a spot in this program. A budding Intern for Congressman Derek Winfield, Alyssa saw this job as her big chance. Granted, the position seemed mundane, if not ridiculous. She simply walked in, picked up a pile of messages and dispersed them to offices on The Hill accordingly.

  Email would have been a lot easier and faster. At first, she thought the task was a newbie-only job assigned to interns, forcing them to learn the lay of the land. But Derek explained email messages were traceable. They were etched into hard drives and nearly impossible to erase.

  So, for the time being interoffice mail delivery was her job and a rung of the ladder she’d be happy to pass on when the time came. Until then, she didn’t mind starting her career at the bottom rung of the ladder. The mailroom had its perks. Playing courier allowed her to walk historic streets and take in the ambiance, imagining the town during different eras and all the presidents who once strolled on antiquated roads beneath her.

  Her innocent walks around Capitol Hill mingled business with pleasure. Ear buds firmly tucked in place, she listened to her favorite mix, while chalking up her health goal of ten thousand-steps. The bustle between L’Enfant Plaza and the Capitol energized her. Wide-eyed, she relished the inspiration America’s forefathers instilled––until the dreadful day an arbitrary Starbucks patron collided with her as he bolted into the store. Memories swirling, her mind replayed the fateful day in a 24/7 constant loop. How could such an innocent random event spiral into this very real nightmare?

  Purse slung over her shoulder, with a tray of coffee orders in one hand and a stack of to-be-delivered messages in the other, Alyssa had no control as her balancing act flew into the air, leaving a deluge of coffee-splattered, mocha-scented letters cluttering the entrance. “No, no, no.” After flinging her hands, she snatched a pile of napkins and scowled at the mess surrounding her. She drew in a deep breath. Indignation seething inside, she clenched a fist to repress her reaction to a simmer.

  “Son of a bitch.” The dark-haired man’s attention dropped to his camelhair coat. Brushing off coffee beads to keep them from soaking into his lapel, he flashed a gaze toward Alyssa, offering a lame apology. “Sorry. This mess is totally on me.”

  A tinge of satisfaction befell her, as she eyed his splattered attire. “I can see that.” She chuckled.

  He followed her line of vision and glanced downward. “Perfect.” Grabbing more napkins, he cleaned whipped cream from his shoes then wiped his pants before noticing a sizable blotch on the pocket of his camelhair. “Damn it.” Tugging off the coat, he draped it across the side of the condiment stand and reached for an arbitrary towel clumped into a mound beside him, then pressed on the stain. Not until he appeared to be satisfied with his own results, did he return his attention to
Alyssa, now squatting beside him, cleaning the coffee puddle. “Here, let me help you.”

  She rolled her eyes but said nothing, although her thoughts rebuked him. It’s about damn time you focused on the chaos you caused…

  The stranger knelt with towel in hand and sloshed it around in the pool of coffee, making the mess exponentially worse, while Alyssa fought to keep her boiling frustration at bay. Shifting her gaze to her scattered and smothered envelopes, she turned and duck-walked, gathering them into a drenched pile. She clenched her jaw, then shook and examined each packet, an effort that did little more to minimize the damage than changing splotches to dribbles.

  When an attendant came to the rescue and began mopping the floor, the stranger stood, retrieved his coat, and draped it over an arm. “Damn. Can this day get any worse?” He glanced at his watch. “Son of a––now, I’m running late.” Turning toward Alyssa, he reached into his back pocket and drew out a business card then handed it to her. “Take this. I’ll pay your dry-cleaning bill. Just shoot me an email.” Instead of buying a coffee, he smacked open the door and rushed outside, quickly disappearing into the busy crowd.

  Alyssa’s last nerve had her grinding her teeth as she inspected her own coat for stains. Surprised her clothing escaped the coffee cascade, she stuffed the man’s proffer into her pocket without even glancing at his name. She felt a bit atoned that the bulk of the mess splashed over him as opposed to her. But a quick glance at her letters doused the brief restitution. Again, she blotted the notes in her charge in an attempt to salvage them, hoping the incident wouldn’t cost her job.

  When the attendant finished mopping the floor, he asked if he could remake her order.

  Alyssa nodded and thanked him, still wiping her mess. Why did the collision have to happen to her? She cussed the arrogant man under her breath. How dare he blow her off after causing the incident?

  Instead of the attendant, a manager returned to the scene with a carryout tray of fresh coffee. “This batch is on the house. I saw that whole scenario go down.” He shook his head. “That guy could have at least helped you with your mail, since he was the reason your envelopes were soiled.”

  “Thank you so much.” Alyssa appreciatively took the order. “I’m sorry to make such a mess.”

  The manager shrugged. “Hey, you did nothing wrong. No worries. Stuff happens.”

  “Tell that to my boss.” Rolling her eyes, Alyssa splayed the pile of notes in her hand. “How can I deliver these to senators and congressmen?” Heat raged in her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut for a long beat, resisting the march of berating anger clenching her stomach. True, the accident wasn’t her fault, but if she hadn’t been so engrossed in listening to her music, she might have seen the man busting through the door and avoided the mishap altogether.

  The manager smiled and raised an eyebrow. “The damage looks superficial. Maybe you could just replace the envelopes?” He gazed at the soggy array. “Look, the coffee didn’t stain the addresses beyond recognition, and I doubt the damage seeped through to the inside messages.”

  “Perhaps…” Alyssa’s scowl faded as she inspected the notes and considered his idea. “You might be right. Thanks.” If she hurried to her office and simply switched the envelopes, she could deliver the messages with only a slight delay…no one would be the wiser. Gathering her paperwork and coffee, she rushed outside then scurried to her office, assured the plan just might save her ass.

  In theory, the switch was a no-brainer. She never dreamed one instinctual cover-your-ass choice could threaten her life. Opening the coffee-stained envelopes and switching the notes to identical, deliverable packets seemed the perfect solution––until she discovered the one note never intended for delivery…the note that validated the existence of a shadow government.

  Geez, if only she hadn’t opened that wretched letter. She gasped the moment she saw an immediate burn order splashed in red across the top of the page above a simple title: The List. As she read on, she swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. She had no idea how deep the faction went, or which treasonous federal officials would be revealed once the list was decoded.

  Racking her brain, she couldn’t recall where the delivery had come from. She couldn’t remember picking it up from any of the offices. But she had to admit her mindless deliveries rarely demanded her undivided attention. Still, the envelope was smaller than the others, and it didn’t carry the standard Federal Government insignia.

  A loud honking from a car speeding through the traffic signal brought her thoughts back to the moment. Dear God. The last thing she needed was a jolt to boost her adrenaline.

  Biting the edge of her bottom lip, Alyssa shoved her trembling hands into her pockets and picked up her pace, rationalizing her decision. She didn’t intend to snoop that day. She simply couldn’t deliver soggy, damaged mail and expect no one would notice. An entry-level job meant no demotions existed. If she didn’t perform up to expectations, firing was the only alternative. Her priority…she had to save her dream-job.

  Slowing her pace, she entered the Capitol Rotunda and gazed at the vast marvel surrounding her. How did her dream morph into the nightmare now clenching her throat in a stranglehold…a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken? She shuddered. Not in her wildest dreams had she ever expected the politicized bureaucrats and pundits on Capitol Hill would swallow her whole.

  Discovering an encrypted list had her bursting at the seams to tell someone. How could she simply ignore the message and let the powers that be sweep their dirty little secrets under a politicized rug? But who could she turn to or believe in enough to provide solid advice? Anyone could be involved in this “Association.” For weeks, trust no one had been her mantra. But each passing day had her more convinced someone lurked in the shadows, watching her every move, and the paranoia smothered her with feelings of impending doom.

  Fiddling with the locket around her neck, she thought about her twin…the only person Alyssa truly trusted, aside from her brother. Emily had a sixth sense that seemed to guide her decisions. She would know whether to pass along the secret list or burn it.

  Several times over the last three weeks, Alyssa started to call Emily, and each time she stopped short of pushing Send. Derek taught his intern well. If “The Association” tailed Alyssa, her phone would likely be bugged, too. The thought of putting her twin in danger clamped Alyssa’s stomach like a coiling snake squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. A letter sent from a random mail drop would go undetected. She’d wait until the two could meet. In the meantime, Alyssa would lay low, do her job, and avoid confrontation.

  Glancing at her watch, she realized the late hour. Another workday drew to an end, and she’d need to rush if she wanted to catch her train home. Exiting at the rear of the Capitol Rotunda, she again tightened the grasp on her coat collar, wishing she’d remembered to grab the blue and white scarf she usually wore on windy mornings. The chill within her deepened as she strode the same route she had walked every day for the past year. West on Independence to the L’Enfant Plaza Metro Station where she caught the Silver train line to McLean, Virginia. From there, she drove home.

  Arriving just in time to catch her shuttle, she drew in a deep breath and stepped from the platform into the train. When the door closed, she squeezed her eyes tightly then released the pressure to relax the pinch twisting in the back of her neck. Once she knew Emily received her message, Alyssa felt sure together they could devise a plan to end her nightmare. She leaned back in her seat deep in thought, feeling thankful she survived another day––looking past a dark, hooded figure hunched only a few seats away.

  Chapter Two

  Staring into the Potomac River at the gruesome sight, Detective Ashton Frasier withdrew a pair of silicone gloves from his pocket and slipped them on then glanced toward the forensic photographer. “Poor girl.” He shook his head. “They say surgeons get used to seeing gaping wounds and gushing blood…are cops so different? When I see a murder victim, my sto
mach never fails to heave.”

  “I don’t think anyone gets used to death or the violence left in the wake of murder.” Continuing to click pictures from various angles as he recorded the crime scene, Brad spoke without looking up. “But over time images fade…or maybe new visions just replace the old.”

  Ash slid down the bank and knelt beside the young woman. After taking note of her body position, he zeroed in on the deep bruises circling her neck and frowned. The young woman’s haunting stare caused his breath to catch. “I promise you I’ll find the sick bastard who did this.” Her long brown hair floating on the surface, crusted with sludge. The blue cotton dress, now clinging to the curves of her body, her manicured fingernails, and the locket around her neck told him the woman had means. Certainly not homeless, which meant someone would be missing her sooner than later.

  The corner of a soggy business card peeked from the pocket of her royal-blue coat. “Hey, Brad, come snap a close-up of this evidence.” Ash pointed to his discovery.

  After snapping one more shot, Brad turned his attention to the woman’s midsection and clicked a continuous stream, before giving Ash the okay to remove the protruding card. “Any identification…a purse or wallet?”

  “Not that I’ve seen so far. We’ll get some divers to scan the riverbed.” Ash inspected both sides of her hands, paying close attention to the victim’s long fingers and lightly painted nails. The jagged edges showed signs of a struggle. No wedding band or tan mark. He lifted the hand with his pen, but he saw no tissue lodged under the fingernails. The Potomac most likely washed away any DNA evidence. But the medical examiner would scrape under the tips. If even a spec of DNA existed, Quinton Banner would find a way to connect the dots.

  Ash dug a small bag and sharpie from his jacket. With his pen, he edged the card from her pocket and carefully withdrew the evidence, inspecting both sides before sliding it into the plastic. Scribbling a note on the bag, he stepped away to allow access to the coroner. “Let me know the moment you ID this girl so I can contact her family. Aside from the obvious, something about this crime scene raises the hair on the back of my neck.” He zipped the seal on the evidence bag. Flattening the plastic, he squinted to read the name and number through a blur of wet scum then programmed the information into his cell phone. “Well, mister B. D. Mathis,” he whispered. “I wonder how you fit into our puzzle.”