Betrayed (A CORE Sector Novel Book 1)

  BETRAYED

  A CORE SECTOR NOVEL

  KP STAFFORD

  S&S PUBLICATIONS

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Also by KP Stafford

  About the Author

  Betrayed

  A CORE Sector Novel

  Copyright © 2016 by KP Stafford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Published by S&S Publications

  Be sure to visit KP’s website and get on the reader's list so you can receive advance notifications, discounts and reader's only specials.

  http://kpstafford.com/join-the-readers-list/

  1

  FRANK TEMPLE POURED himself a whiskey as the morning coffee brewed. He only drank when he had the dream. He'd been drinking for two days. He took a slow drink and let it burn in his mouth before swallowing, still unable to shake the uneasiness that crept over him. He didn't drink to pass out or to sleep. He drank the morning after a dream, to calm his nerves.

  In the dream he could see the car's tail lights sink into the dark depths of the Potomac. Only seconds before he could hear the screams of his wife and the cries of his children. They were sinking. Frank felt paralyzed watching from overhead. As he regained his senses, he screamed and struggled to get over the guard railing. He didn't stop to think; he dove into the icy water after them.

  He vaguely remembered the on-duty officer talking to him, "The streets were wet."

  But it didn't register in his mind.

  "She lost control of the car, Frank."

  But she was a good driver. Didn't they know that?

  "Nothing we could do buddy. The twins were with her, Frank."

  Of course they were with her. Where else would they be?

  THE MEMORY of that night had gone through his head a thousand times. He handled it by diving head first into his work. It helped him avoid the reality of it. Chasing down sleaze balls was, to some degree, a way of revenge for the loss of his family. In time, that left him cold and uncaring. Evelyn wouldn't have liked who he had been after her death. He discovered writing novels was a good way to release everything he had bottled up; the emotions, the crimes, the loss. He walked out on police work and became a novelist. It didn't stop the dreams from coming, but it had slowed them down. Sort of.

  FRANK STARED out of the sliding patio doors for a long time, slowly sipping the whiskey, letting the burn slide down his throat like it was punishment. He should be writing about this.

  Nothing soothed the soul like a morning shot of poison, chased by a cup of strong coffee and pounding the pavement on a beautiful fall morning in Maine. He'd picked a path around his neighborhood where he could make a five mile run and end up on his own doorstep. The quiet and serenity of his childhood stomping grounds always eased his mind. It was something out of a magazine with streets lined by yellow birch, slippery elm, and plenty of red maples thrown in for a dash of color. The shrub-lined lawns always reminded him of why he loved New England.

  FRANK KNEW he shouldn't get stuck in the same routine. Police work had taught him to be routine in some areas, but not in others. His morning run was routine. Same route every day. He always passed Charlotte and exchanged morning hellos. One day he was going to turn around and run with her. It never happened, but he kept thinking about it. Maybe it would be today. Maybe not.

  Like clockwork, he passed her at 8:15, always three blocks over from the street they both lived on. He jogged right past her as he said hello. After a few steps he stopped, turned to watch her gaining distance between them. Hell, Frank, just do it. The voice in his head spoke. He took off at a good pace, trying to catch her. She was a good ways ahead of him, but the extra speed would do him good, break him out of his rut. He caught up to her as she rounded the corner at the end of the street. "Mind if I join you?"

  She gave him an uncertain look. Her pace slowed and then quickened, "It's a free country."

  She wasn't unfriendly, but he felt like he'd encroached on her space. It was rude of him. "We've been passing each other for months. I thought it was time I acted like a good neighbor."

  She glanced his way before returning her eyes straight ahead, "That's nice, Frank. Not many people in the neighborhood have welcomed me."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. It was a lot friendlier when I was kid." His breath was uneven. He wasn't used to the faster pace.

  "You grew up here."

  "Yeah, I live in my parent's house now."

  "I'm sorry. Did you lose them?"

  He said yes. He'd lost them many years ago when he was still a rookie. "They died right after I became a cop."

  She glanced over at him again, "I thought you were a writer?"

  "I am. Retired early from the force and started writing about crime instead of solving it."

  She nodded her head and kept her pace.

  They ran along in silence for about a mile. Maybe it was a mistake to invade her privacy. He hadn't dated much since the death of his wife. He knew it was time to start moving forward, but he was never one to push himself on others. Evelyn always told him he was too much of a gentleman for his own good. It had taken her six months to get his attention. He already felt like a heel, he might as well go ahead and stick his foot in his mouth. "I usually go to the diner to write after my run. Would you like to go have a cup of coffee?"

  She kept her eyes straight ahead, "I'd hate to get in the way of your writing time, Frank."

  He knew it was a brush off, but he had to give it one more shot, "You wouldn't be. I could use a break, and to be honest, it's been awhile since I sat down with a real person and had coffee." He could see she'd become tense, her paced quickened again, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so bold. I just thought," he said as he picked up his pace, unsure of what he thought. It was stupid. This dating thing had never worked for him.

  Charlotte slowed down and came to a stop, "It's okay. I haven't been out with anyone in awhile. I'm not sure how to react, even when it's a simple coffee invitation." She glanced away and bit her lip before looking him in the eyes, "It was very nice of you, Frank."

  He smiled. It was a start. He could tell she was uncomfortable. Twenty years of detective work had clued him in about people. "So, is that a yes?" he asked with concern in his voice.

  She started walking down the sidewalk, "I don't know. M
y life is complicated."

  He reached out and touched her arm causing her to flinch and knew immediately the move was a mistake. He pulled his hand back, "Okay, I tell you what. If you decide to have coffee with me, meet me there at 10:30. If not, no hard feelings. Fair enough?" He hoped it would ease her concerns.

  She smiled, "Fair enough." She looked over at him, "I'm going to head home now." She took off jogging towards the end of the road where their street crossed this one.

  He continued walking in the same direction. He wasn't sure what just happened or why she was reluctant to have coffee with him, but she was afraid of something. He was sure of that.

  2

  CHARLOTTE WAS SHAKING by the time she arrived back at her house. Frank lived right across the street and had never given her a reason to dislike or distrust him, but recent events had been hell on her and she'd grown weary of trusting anyone.

  Nine months earlier a letter had shown up in her mail. It looked innocent to her, but her lawyer was worried. Later that night, his worry had shown up as a brick through her window with a note attached.

  She had no idea at the time how her different her life would be and she'd be jogging through a New England neighborhood. As she got ready to get in the shower, she remembered it had taken her over a month to get comfortable enough to resume her morning routine. The past few months had been quiet. She passed Frank Temple every morning. He was friendly but never imposed on her, until this morning.

  She didn't like feeling so alone or out of control. He said he was an ex-cop. She wondered if she could trust him. She knew bringing a cop into her life could be a big mistake. She wasn't sure she was ready to open up if he started asking questions she couldn't answer.

  If she didn't start trusting someone, she could go crazy. She turned the water off, grabbed her towel and sat down on the side of the tub. How had things gotten to be such a mess? This is not how her life was supposed to be. She stood up and walked to the mirror. Her wet curls hung around her face. The green eyes staring back at her were sad. She'd lost herself somewhere and her reflection gave no clues that she was still in there, somewhere.

  She decided now was the time, but secretly hoped it wasn't a mistake. She couldn't afford any mistakes. She couldn't afford to not get out and start some kind of life again either.

  The phone rang, startling her back into reality. She hoped it wasn't Frank calling to see if she'd decided to meet him. The caller ID on the machine told her it was an international call. She picked it up immediately, "Gavin?"

  "Yes, Charlotte. What's wrong? You sound anxious."

  "I haven't heard from you in awhile. It's been a little lonely around here," her voice trailed off. She didn't want him to worry about her, but she couldn't deny the fact that hearing an old friend's voice was getting to her emotionally.

  "I'm sorry, Charlotte. I know this is hard on you."

  "When can I come home, Gavin? It's been nine months."

  Gavin paused, unsure of what to tell her, "There are still a lot of loose ends over here. It could take awhile." He took in a ragged breath, "Why don't you go to a movie or something? That's always made you feel better." There was no response, "Charlotte, are you there?"

  "Yes, I'm here," she finally spoke. "I was thinking."

  "What about?"

  "Well, I've met someone, and I was thinking about meeting him for coffee. I just don't know if that's a wise thing to do," she took in a breath, "with all that's happened lately."

  The line was quiet for a few seconds before Gavin replied, "It's a great idea, Charlotte. No sense in you putting your life on hold because of a few glitches right now." He spoke quickly after a hesitation, "I'm sorry, I need to go. I have a meeting this afternoon. You take care and I'll call you later." He hung up abruptly.

  Charlotte hung up the receiver. It wasn't like Gavin to end a call so quickly. She was tired of hearing about loose ends, but he'd said it was time for her to get out and start meeting people. She hoped that didn't mean she would be stuck in this place for awhile.

  3

  "LAWLER, you have a phone call," the guard said as he opened Gabe's cell.

  He let out a long sigh, "I don't suppose it's America's Most Wanted calling to interview me?" he asked.

  "You know they don't tell me that shit, Gabe. I just come down here to escort your ass to the phone. It could be the president for all I know."

  Gabe ran his hand through his hair as he got up from his cot, "Yeah, that'll be the day, won't it?" The truth was he was sure who was on the other end of the phone, the last person he ever wanted to speak to again.

  The guard escorted him into the phone room and told him to wait for the ring. Gabe knew the drill; he'd been here ten years. Nothing had changed. He paced the floor hoping the phone would hurry up and ring so he could get it over with. He wasn't expecting a call from his lawyer, so it could only be one other person. He jumped when the phone finally rang. With a haggard breath he picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?"

  "I miss you. I want to see you."

  "Denise," He tried not to let the disgust escape him into the phone. It would only set her off. He'd told her it was over, but she wouldn't give up.

  "I'm going crazy in here without you."

  "You are crazy Denise. That's why you're locked up."

  "I'm not crazy, Gabe. That's all bullshit and you know it." she screamed into his ear. "I know you'll change your mind once you see me again. It's been ten years, Gabe. You've just forgotten how much you love me. How much we mean to each other."

  "Denise, I haven't forgotten anything. It was fun while it lasted, but it's over now. I may never get out of here. This is no way to have a relationship." He hoped his plea would work this time. Truth be known, she was crazy and he had a good chance of getting out at his next parole hearing. Things change and he could see a life with her wasn't the path he wanted to take. She was one of the main reasons he'd been locked up. Her and her big mouth.

  Denise took a sharp tone to her voice, "Look, you belong to me, you're just not thinking straight. I know what that place has done to you. I know being around all those men has warped your mind. It's okay, we can fix it."

  "These men and this place haven’t warped me. It's made me think more clear than I ever have."

  Denise was silent for a long time. Gabe knew she was coming up with another ploy to change his mind. She drew in a long breath, "Are you in love with one of those men? Have you gone gay on me?"

  "No, hell no. It's not like that."

  "If you have, I swear I'll kill you both. You're mine and no one else is going to have you. Do you understand me?" With a quivering voice she added, "I know what the problem is. I know who's to blame for this. I thought I got even with him years ago."

  "What? What the hell are you talking about Denise?"

  "You’ll see!" She screamed it out before the line went dead.

  Gabe sat there with the phone to his ear for awhile. He wasn't ready to go back to his cell and guessed he still had a few minutes of call time left before the guard came for him, so he pretended to still be on the phone. This woman was crazy and knowing her, she would break into the prison just to kill him, but what had she meant about getting even? Who did she get even with?

  THE PRISON GUARD escorted Gabe back to his cell. He laid on his cot for hours trying to figure out what Denise had meant. Some time in the early morning hours, he finally fell asleep. His dreams made no sense. It made even less sense that he knew he was dreaming. His life was passing before him in bits and pieces. He flashed to a scene of his arrest ten years ago. He was sitting in DC Metro waiting for his arraignment trial. He looked over at the newspaper headline, Frank Temple Brings Down Drug Ring. Nothing special about that, but as he skimmed the article, there it was, Temple had lost his wife and kids only a week earlier and vowed to bring down every drug operation he could. Gabe woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath.

  4

  BRYCE ARMSTRONG STOOD LOOKING out of his penthouse windo
w, staring down at the city he loved. London had kept many of her secrets locked away, others had tainted and haunted her name. "Why is this so damned difficult, Alec?" His voice seemed far away, like it was more of a statement.

  "What do you mean?" Alec Brodie questioned.

  The older man turned to look at him and took a long sip of scotch, "For five hundred years we have been the elite, we've been revered. Hell, we've even been feared."

  "We're still feared, Bryce."

  He gave a look of acknowledgement, "Yes, but to have one of our own betray us in this manner is unforgivable." He walked to his desk, put the spent cigar into the ashtray and sat down. He took the last sip of scotch and threw the glass across the room, shattering it against the wall.

  Alec had only seen Bryce mad a few times in his life. This was about as much control as he allowed himself to lose. He prided himself on keeping complete composure at all times. "Go home, Alec. There's nothing more we can do tonight."

  Alec stood up and looked at Bryce, "We will find out the truth and who's behind it. This will be taken care of."

  "Yes, of course. It's just been a long day. I need to think."

  "Have a good evening."

  Bryce seemed to ignore him for a few moments, staring off into the darkness again, "Yes, you too."

  Alec, the youngest inductee into the organization, quietly left the room and stood outside the door. He'd never seen Bryce so out of sorts, but he knew he was tired. He'd known the man since he was a small boy, taken in under his wing when his own father had died suddenly. It was funny, he had always looked the same, never aging. He had a healthy build, dark hair with highlights of grey. It not only gave him a distinguished look, but one of sophistication, reverence, and to some he supposed, a bit of fear and mystery. The man was elegant and charming, but he could also be ruthless. Alec had never witnessed this, but it was present in his personality.

  ON THE DRIVE home he considered what Bryce had said about the age of their society, how they'd been revered and even feared. That’s what it took to be in intelligence. How can she be alive? The question had rolled over and over in his mind since he’d heard the news. He rolled up his car window. An early fall left a chill in the night air. He normally loved these drives. Tonight, was different. Tonight, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread.