Finding Cade (Dream Catcher Series Book 1)

by Bernice Layton

  But Dante understood. The uncertainty and worry about Cade had taken a toll on all of them. They remained in a state of limbo where joy and happiness were replaced with sadness and dwindling hope.

  Each time the telephone or doorbell rang caused a fresh wave of panic and dread. They could barely function during the day and were often wide awake and restless at night.

  Dante watched his mother Katherine move her food around on her plate. She’d murmured the number of Sunday dinners Cade had missed and vowed to make all his favorite dishes when he returned.

  As she sniffed back a rush of tears, Dante vowed to continue to pray for his brother’s return. To not do so meant watching his parents live through their worst nightmare, and he didn’t think he could do it.

  Damn it, Cade, please be safe, baby brother.

  Chapter Twelve

  Valerie

  Valerie had soothed as many annoyed and angry school administrators, principals, students, parents, and community members as she could. They all seemed to understand it wasn’t her fault about the reduced grants; they just needed someone to blame and, unfortunately, they blamed her. She was the public face of the disbursement office. She let each one have their say at the community meetings she had been asked to attend.

  She listened patiently as each vented or ranted their frustration. After each meeting, she left with an arm full of complaint forms. She felt it necessary to document their concerns and get their contact information. She believed it gave them a sense that something might get done or at least their concerns were on record.

  Where did the money go? That was the question of the day.

  That’s exactly what she wanted to know, and all her calls to Congress went ignored. Her calls had been passed from one assistant to somebody else’s assistant, then put on hold, and then given another telephone number where she could call to file a complaint. She didn’t know who to go to next, and her boss had no answers.

  As she nursed a cup of tea sitting in her bedroom, she was once again working on her laptop, catching up on her numerous emails. One email brought a smile to her face. It was from Sarah, detailing a full account of the cruise complete with pictures. Her travel group decided to disembark the cruise ship and remain on one of the islands a while longer.

  Valerie was glad Sarah had been able to get away with family and friends surrounding her, and they kept her busy from sun up to sun down, as she’d described their antics in the email.

  It was one line of Sarah’s email that made her frown. She’d asked if Valerie had a chance to enjoy the gift she’d given her and hoped she was getting some answers to the puzzle. She hinted the chain was just part of the gift. What an odd thing for Sarah to mention, Valerie thought as she glanced down at the table beside her comfy chair. In the drawer were the chain and the crystal, which immediately brought on thoughts of JD. She hadn’t worn the crystal since having to pull herself from the last trance, and now days later, she could still hear him calling after her in his pain-filled voice.

  She recalled how frightened he was, but hell, so was she at that point. Her aunt had repeatedly warned her never to go so deep that she lost her sense of self. She had been told her purpose was to help and to guide and nothing more. She’d received the warnings about getting personally involved, but that’s exactly where she had failed with JD. The desperation in his voice was all too real, as was the solid mass of his body pressing into hers as she danced in his arms.

  For some reason, he’d latched onto her on a purely psychic level, and like a magnet, she couldn’t pull away. He had awakened feelings in her she’d managed to keep at bay, but putting her feelings aside, she wanted to help him if she could, and really, she didn’t know if she’d confused him more by telling him that he wasn’t dead.

  Thinking about how shocked she was during her last trance, she still wanted to see him again, but he hadn’t come to her. Had she dashed his hope by asking who wanted to kill him? The guilt was a tremendous ache in her stomach.

  Unable to clear her mind, she decided to go outside and take a walk along the bike trail near her neighborhood. The cool and crisp air might clear her head. She wasn’t particularly fond of the ducks that crept up from the small lake to nestle nearby. The peaceful, quiet setting allowed her more time to ponder on how to resolve the situation with JD and her other pressing issue, finishing what Glen started.

  ***

  Isaac

  Security Specialist Isaac Bishop paced the small kitchen inside of his hide-a-way bungalow. It was his home, and it was also the only thing he ever owned outright, including the one-acre land it sat on. It was so far off the beaten path on the outskirts of Prince George’s County, Maryland, the new road didn’t register on GPS tracker, and that suited him just fine.

  It was a big deal to him to have something that was his because he’d worked hard for it, unlike the public housing developments he’d grown up in. As a youngster, he wished he and his mother had their own place and not the public housing they lived in. His single, unemployed mother had been content with that, but he wasn’t. He hated the concrete, loud steel doors, and bars covering the windows of their unit.

  Back then, he’d wanted what he saw when he rode the bus uptown to school—the big houses with the manicured lawns and expensive cars in the driveways. He used to pray for those things that the uppity folks took for granted.

  Closing his eyes, he thought back five years ago. That’s when his life changed, and to think about it now, Isaac wished he’d never gotten into the car with Neva Owen.

  Released from another prison stint after serving two years of his five-year sentence for assault, battery, and weapon charges he never expected to see, Neva, his former girlfriend, had been there waiting for him with a job offer. To his way of thinking, she owed him because that latest incarceration was partially her fault.

  They had grown up in the same neighborhood, and he’d loved her for as long as he could remember. Even then, Isaac had known that she was ambitious and determined to have the finer things in life, and he had done everything in his power to give them to her. Problem was, it wasn’t enough. She was beautiful and desirable, and he’d been desperate to keep her. He would have done anything to make her happy just as long as she didn’t turn her back on him as his mother had.

  But Isaac wasn’t stupid, either. He suspected she’d had other men coming around, and it filled him with jealousy and rage to think of another man touching what he considered to be his.

  Neva, on the other hand, didn’t feel she belonged to any man. She loved Isaac but had no illusions that he could ever provide her with the lifestyle she felt she deserved. She had plans for her life. She was going to be somebody important, and to achieve that, she needed to surround herself with influential men, rich men who were powerful and respected.

  She didn’t plan on wasting her life waiting for Isaac, who couldn’t control his temper and was constantly in and out of jail. But that didn’t stop her from coming back to him time and time again. It was that aura of danger that surrounded him, the bit of fear of his explosive temper that excited her. And, of course, the sex…the incredible, mind-blowing, knee-buckling sex that was her thing. Yes, he knew her well.

  Unfortunately, Neva had refused to put her life on hold even for him. So, three months into his five-year sentence, she’d sent him a “Dear-John-Fuck-Off” letter, ending their relationship.

  He’d been furious when he’d received her letter. Hell, he was serving time because a strung-out dope addict had broken into her apartment. Isaac knew the guy probably would have raped and killed her had he not showed up. He’d beaten the guy within an inch of his life for that ungrateful bitch.

  He’d been heartsick because he loved and adored her. But what did he have to offer her? He couldn’t give her luxury cars or designer clothes, so he’d resigned himself to the fact that she would find somebody that could. He would move on, but he never completely gave up on her.

  So, to see her when he’d been releas
ed at the end of his sentence, he had been surprised to walk out of the gate and find her waiting for him.

  But there she was, leaning against her expensive car, wearing a short dress that molded to her curves and wearing dark sunglasses hiding much of her beautiful face. She was like ice water to a thirsty man, gorgeous and sexy, and when his eyes trailed down her body, his eyes halted at the enormous diamond ring that weighed down her left hand. Yes, he’d heard through the grapevine that she’d hooked up with some rich man, but there she was, smiling with arms opened wide to greet him.

  “I’ve missed you,” she’d crooned while driving him to an out-of-the-way motel where she had found him a rent-by-the-week room. They had screwed all night, but when he’d awakened the next morning, she was gone.

  She left nothing except the intoxicating scent of her expensive perfume to fill his nose. The shower he’d taken caused his body to tingle painfully from the scratches she’d left on him. He couldn’t help but think that whoever the guy she’d hooked up with couldn’t satisfy her.

  Those were his thoughts when he’d arrived at the job his parole officer had ordered him to report to that morning. The job had been a condition of his release. So when he’d walked into Councilman Roy Owen’s storefront campaign office for the first time, Isaac was impressed by the urgency of the hustle and bustle of all the volunteers as they talked on telephones, printed out flyers, and stuffed envelopes.

  When a tall but stocky black man approached, ready to shake his hand and flashing a one-hundred-watt smile, Isaac had been surprised when the man introduced himself as Councilman Roy Owen.

  Not one who’d ever followed politics, much less politicians, Isaac didn’t know who the man was when he’d clasped the freshly manicured, baby-bottom-smooth hand. He was, however, aware of his own rough, work prison hands.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you from the neighborhood, Isaac,” the councilman had said, still flashing that fake smile. “Your reputation precedes you, and you come highly recommended. Yes, you may be just the man I’m looking for—tough, strong, and won’t take any shit off anybody.”

  Feeling an instinctual wariness honed by years of living on the streets and in prison, Isaac could spot a hustler and con man from a mile away. He’d hated the man on sight and didn’t want any part of whatever his end game was. His instinct was to snatch his hand back and get the hell out of there if the thought of violating his parole hadn’t kept him rooted to the spot.

  “Isaac, all of these folks are working on my election, and I’m going to need a smart, street-wise tough guy like you to watch my back. I want you to be a part of my security team.”

  Isaac had done a double-take because prior to hearing that, he’d been sizing the councilman up—nearly sixty years old, imposing, and authoritative. He’d had the air about him that told Isaac he was secure and comfortable in knowing that he got whatever he wanted, and he could turn the charm off and on like a switch.

  Owen radiated old southern charm and charisma. He wasn’t bad looking, either. He had brown skin and his thinning hair was sprinkled with gray. Distinguished looking, his sharp, intelligent, penetrating eyes gazed at Isaac above the wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. There wasn’t a question in Isaac’s mind the man was financially well off. His gray tailored, linen suit was proof of that.

  Owen was still expounding on the job duties and making grand gestures of all the good work being done on his behalf; all Isaac saw was the gold-encrusted Rolex watch glittering on the man’s wrist. He pulled his eyes away from the watch and focused on what he’d been saying.

  “A lot of the credit goes to my wife, Isaac. She is the one who suggested I consider hiring someone with your history and knowledge. Come on into my office to meet her…” Owen had said.

  After watching the petite but shapely woman from behind talking on the telephone as she leaned over the desk, Isaac thought his heart had stopped beating and his breakfast was about to erupt from his stomach when she’d hung up the phone and turned around.

  He’d held that shapely ass in his hands last night.

  Wait…did he say wife?

  He’d struggled to keep his mouth from hanging open. And then, Owen walked over and palmed her ass, while Neva pretended to act shy and embarrassed.

  “Neva, this is Isaac Bishop.”

  Isaac recalled Owen flashing that damn smile when Neva smiled cordially and without a hint of recognition. “If my husband thinks you’re the man for the job, then who am I to argue? Welcome, Mr. Bishop,” she said.

  Isaac could not have formed words if his life depended on it. Neva…his Neva was married to this old lecherous asshole. Isaac felt like a damn fool having to shake the hand she’d offered him…the same hand that damn near yanked his penis off when she hurriedly put a condom on him the previous night.

  What kind of fucked-up game was she playing? Inside, he’d been seething so hot it felt as if his soul was burning, and it took everything in him not to reach out and strangle her. Forcing his attention off her smiling face to a space over her shoulder, something died inside Isaac, and in its place was a cold, deep hatred and contempt for her, the woman he would have previously given his life for. That hatred caused everything in him to shift, and to mask it, his eyes went steely as a sick calmness waved over him. When the telephone rang, she turned and walked behind the desk before answering it. Owen’s hot, sweaty handprint was on her right butt cheek.

  “Well, Isaac, let’s continue talking elsewhere.” Owen had slapped him on the back and guided him into another room, an empty office where he waved to a chair for Isaac to sit before closing the door. When Owen sat behind the desk, all pretense of graciousness and a polished candidate had disappeared, and the cunning manipulator has surfaced.

  “Okay, Isaac, cards on the table. I need a man that is discreet, can carry out some, shall we say, occasionally questionable ethical situations, and can keep his mouth shut about it.”

  Isaac was positive Owen mistook his silence for reluctance, so he pressed on.

  “I meant what I said about your reputation preceding you. Word on the street is that you knew how to handle yourself. I can use a man like you, and the pay is lucrative. Think about it overnight.”

  Isaac had been prepared to tell him his answer right then, that he could take his job and shove it up his ass. Sure, his parole officer would give him hell, but dealing with Owen and Neva would only lead him back to prison, and he wanted no part of that. Although he believed he was being played for a fool by Neva, and it gnawed at him, and even if it killed him, he would make her pay for her betrayal…and he never forgave a betrayal.

  If there was one thing he knew about Neva, it was how to make her scream…and scream she would because he had no doubt that she would seek him out like a bitch in heat. Sure, he would go through the motions and take her because to enact his revenge, he had to be near her.

  He also wanted to keep an eye on her phony scumbag husband. He was not somebody Isaac wanted to turn his back on. This son of a bitch was as dirty and dangerous as any two-bit hustler on the street—only wearing better clothes, but he was a means to an end.

  He’d stared Owen in the eye and told him he would take the job. His position had given him financial independence, cars, first-class travel, and all the women he wanted. But it came at a cost. Once Owen became a congressman with access to the upper echelon of the power players in DC, the man flexed his political muscle by mostly lining his own pockets.

  But Isaac did exact a measure of revenge by screwing Neva under Owen’s nose every chance he got. Owen didn’t have a clue. Although his heart had long ago shut out Neva, Isaac’s body betrayed him every time they shared the same space. She mesmerized him. Yet he was disgusted with himself for still desiring her…his scorn for her was almost equaled to his contempt for her husband and his boss.

  He tolerated Owen’s tyrannical outbursts and occasional despicable treatment of the security team and immediate staff. Isaac wasn’t the least
bit intimated by Owen and took enormous satisfaction in reminding him that he wasn’t another lackey to push around.

  Isaac had calmly taken the man aside and then quietly yet bluntly promised to slit his throat while he slept if he’d ever dared speak to him like that again.

  That little chat convinced Owen to tread much more lightly when addressing him.

  They were bound together.

  Each knew where the bodies were buried.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Valerie

  While listening to her mother Gail and her sister Lynne discuss what color and type of curtains she needed to hang at the kitchen windows, Valerie busied herself with making the salad for their long overdue Wednesday night dinner. She hoped by entertaining her family she’d have no time to worry about how she’d left JD. Although she sought him out by going into a trance, he never appeared, and it left her feeling depressed and sad. Still, she thought about him.

  Suddenly dropping a spoon onto the granite counter, she squeezed her eyes shut and winced as a painful ache pierced her chest. She knew it wasn’t her pain. It was JD’s “ghost” pain that nearly crippled her. Grabbing the counter, she tried steadying herself with trembling hands just as Lynne pivoted around and saw her.

  “Oh, good Lord, Valerie, are you having another one of your silly spells?”

  Shaking herself to clear her head as the pain began to fade, it took hearing Lynne’s annoying whine to pull herself together. “No. I-I just couldn’t remember if I’d added the basil to the vinaigrette,” she fibbed, accepting a tight squeeze of understanding from her mother. Lynne, on the other hand, didn’t understand anything. If it wasn’t tangible, then it didn’t exist.