Slaying the Dragon (Deception Duet #2) (7 page)

“Fine.” I shoved the card into my purse and raised myself off the barstool, walking between them and hugging them both. “I love you wholes.”

“We love you, too,” Brayden soothed. “We’re in this together, Mack.”

I kissed both their cheeks and slid back into my barstool. Returning my attention to my very boring non-alcoholic drink, I took a sip of the tart cranberry, my eyes catching a news broadcast on the large screen mounted on the wall of the understated bar. Ghosts of my childhood flashed before me and my breath caught. I was unable to make sense of the scene being displayed.

“Can you turn that up, please?” I asked the bartender, my mouth becoming dry.

She finished making a drink and grabbed the remote, raising the volume.

“What is it, Mack?” Jenna asked, her voice heavy with concern.

“I’m not sure,” I replied, my tone even. “But I know that house.” I gestured with my head to the blonde reporter, her hair perfectly coifed, her makeup heavy, standing in front of a large white colonial. Reading the subtitle saying
Double Homicide Outside Fort Bragg,
I tried to wrap my head around what was going on.

“How do you know that house?” Brayden asked. I could feel his eyes examining me, penetrating my soul, reading all the secrets I could no longer guard.

“I grew up in it,” I muttered, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. “Nearly every night, I sat in that tree between the two yards with my best friend, Damian, who lived next door.” I instantly began to regret that I never tried to find him after I disappeared in the middle of the night all those years ago. I was warned not to because it could put my family’s life in jeopardy.

“I thought you grew up in San Antonio,” Jenna interjected. She tilted her head, scrunching her eyebrows.

“No.” I shook my head. “We moved there when I was ten. Before that, my dad was stationed at Fort Bragg.” I had probably already told them too much, but if I couldn’t trust my two best friends with the truth of who I was, who could I trust?

“New orders?” Brayden asked.

“Something like that,” I agreed, straining to listen to the newscast.
 

“Tragedy struck this tight-knit neighborhood in Fayetteville, North Carolina, just outside of Fort Bragg early this morning. This is a community of servicemen and women where people watch out for each other, but nothing could have prepared them for the horror they woke up to.”

The live broadcast cut to previously shot footage of a medical examiner rolling two gurneys down a driveway I remembered playing hopscotch on, the bodies covered with a sheet, distraught neighbors looking on with sorrow and condolence.

“The decapitated bodies of a married couple in their sixties were found at approximately nine o’clock this morning at the house behind me, which has been vacant for the past several years. A real estate agent stumbled on what is being called a ‘horrific, ritualistic killing’. The victims have been identified as Lucian and Emily Sheperd.”

A photo of a happy couple surrounded by an extended family appeared on the screen and I gasped, my trembling hand covering my mouth. It had been years, but I’d never forget the woman who was like a second mother to me when I was growing up… Damian’s mom. I didn’t recognize the man at her elbow. All I knew was it wasn’t Damian’s father. They must have divorced.

“Emily Sheperd was known as Emily Mills before she married her second husband approximately five years ago. She and her first husband lived in the house next door, but it is unclear whether that has any connection to her and her current husband’s murder. The Sheperds, who lived in Raleigh, were scheduled to return from an anniversary trip to the Outer Banks. According to the preliminary medical examiner’s report, they suffered blunt force trauma to the head, leading to the conclusion they were knocked out elsewhere, then brought here and decapitated in the early hours of the morning, their heads found just feet away from the remainder of their bodies. The family has requested privacy during this difficult time.

“Curiously, this neighborhood isn’t new to the headlines. Over fifteen years ago, Francis Galloway, a highly-decorated colonel, who lived in this same exact house, died during a gruesome and fiery attack on the U.S. Embassy in Liberia, which cost over sixty people their lives.”

A dated photo of my father in his dress uniform flashed on the screen. I could barely recognize him, his face clear of any scars or burns.

“Just hours after the attack, his wife and daughter were reported missing and were never found.”

My fears realized, old photos of both my mother and me appeared on the screen, my mother wearing the jeweled cross I had worn nearly every day until I ran from Tyler, leaving it at his house in Boston.

“There were always suspicions of a connection between the two events, although no suspect was ever brought in for questioning and the case has been left unsolved for the past decade-and-a-half.”

I could feel both Jenna’s and Brayden’s eyes on me as they glanced from the television to me. They had been in my bedroom and had seen the portrait that hung above my vanity, the jeweled cross clear for anyone to see. It was such a unique and remarkable piece. There was no way for me to deny who I was anymore.

“Mack…,” Brayden began before I hushed him, listening to the broadcast once more.

“The police here feared another unsolved case, but were able to lift hair fibers found at the scene. They were identified as belonging to one Charles Patrick Montgomery, who is on the FBI’s Most Wanted list in connection with over a dozen other murders spanning the better part of the past decade.”

A photo of Charlie wearing his Ranger beret appeared on the screen, his blue eyes brilliant as he smiled. That was before the madness ate away at him, before he dug into something he shouldn’t have…if his version of events could be believed.

“Law enforcement officials have not speculated on the connection between Montgomery and the Sheperds, but an anonymous source informed us that it is believed Mrs. Sheperd’s former neighbor, Mr. Galloway, isn’t dead, and that he’s the one responsible for orchestrating the attack on the U.S. Embassy all those years ago. The source indicated Galloway has teamed up with Montgomery to silence anyone who could possibly be a witness against him. Perhaps Emily Sheperd knew something she shouldn’t, considering she was his neighbor during the years in question. The source went so far as to mention that several of the victims Montgomery is accused of murdering were people thought to have been on Galloway’s team when he orchestrated the attack on the embassy. Regardless, it goes without saying that Montgomery is a danger and needs to be brought to justice to give this community of patriots the closure they need after this horrific crime.”

I sat in silence, feeling the burn of my friends’ eyes on me. I kept my gaze trained forward, my heart thumping in my chest, thousands of questions circling in my head. Questions I was certain I would never get the answers to. Questions I wasn’t sure I
wanted
the answers to.

“Ummm… Mack?” Brayden said, breaking the silence once the broadcast was over and moved on to a public interest piece on top swimwear for a flattering figure.

“Yes, boo?” I responded, trying to ignore his wide, disbelieving eyes.

“That’s not…? You’re not…?” He leaned toward me, lowering his voice. “You’re the little girl, aren’t you? Because, correct me if I’m wrong, that was your mother. I’ve seen her portrait thousands of times, Mack. And that cross the woman in the photo was wearing is the cross you wear, and–”

I inhaled quickly, a sudden chill washing over me. Brayden and Jenna noticed my reaction, still eyeing me cautiously, concerned.

“How did they get that photo?” I asked softly. “She didn’t get that cross until after we…”

“After you what?” Jenna prodded.

“After we left the church we were hidden away in for nearly two years when we fled North Carolina,” I exhaled, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders when the words left my mouth. I hated having to keep such a huge secret from my friends. “But if they showed
that
photo, someone involved in the case knows who my mother was, knows her changed identity. That means they could know who
I
am. No one knows that except for…” I trailed off, glancing down at my stomach.

“Holy shit,” Brayden whispered, not taking his eyes off me. Narrowing his gaze, he was able to put all the puzzle pieces together. “That’s what Tyler lied to you about, isn’t it?”

I took a long sip of my drink, wishing there was alcohol in it. “He was working on an assignment for the security company. That’s why he approached me. Not because he liked me, but because it was his job to get close to me. He was only dating me to find out where my father was.” I stared at my cocktail, twirling the ice with my straw. “No other reason.”

“So what the news said about your father… The source is right, isn’t he? Or she? Your father’s not dead, is he?” Brayden asked.

I raised my eyes to his and slightly shook my head.

“Fuck…” Brayden and Jenna exhaled in unison, sinking into their barstools.

“So all of this,” I began, waving at the television screen displaying the news, “is confusing. Everything’s just spiraled out of control since I met Tyler.” I lowered my voice. “Then Charlie mysteriously reappeared in my life and I found out he’s supposedly systematically killing people and I’m on the list, as is my dad. He has no idea where my dad is and I’m the only one who could lead him there. I just… I don’t know which way is up anymore, especially considering Charlie was the sole survivor of the attack on the U.S. Embassy. The news conveniently left that out, probably to make their accusation that he and my father were working together more believable.”

My mind was spinning as I kept talking, both Jenna’s and Brayden’s eyes wide. “Tyler thought Charlie wanted revenge and was going after the people responsible for his family’s death, but I don’t know…” I sighed. “I just can’t help but feel he’s being set up. And my father, well… He’s not the monster people think he was…or is. I can’t believe he’s responsible for what they say he is. Maybe Charlie and my dad are both victims of something so much bigger. Maybe they’re too close to blowing the lid and that’s why my dad had to go into hiding. Now Charlie has been forced into hiding, as well.”

“But what about the hair fibers?”

I shook my head. “I can’t explain that, but I know Charlie. Maybe I’m naïve, but I want to believe he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Brayden placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezing affectionately. “Mack, I know you always want to see the good in people. I do, too. But you’re obviously a target. Does Charlie know who you really are?”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “He said he was looking into something for a friend of a friend when he was working Cryptology and that’s why he originally approached me. Then we started dating and, according to him, he didn’t care about any of that anymore. However, something happened toward the end of my freshman year and it all went to hell. He was manic, desperate for me to admit who I really was. Looking back, all I can think is that he knew someone was coming for him, that he needed to find my father for some reason, but it was too late. They took him away and locked him in the psych ward, almost like they knew he was close to figuring out what was going on, who was really behind the embassy attack.”

“Or maybe he wanted you to lead him to your father, Mack,” Jenna offered. “I don’t think you should be so quick to trust Charlie. And even if that were the case, if they were worried about Charlie opening his mouth, they must have known who you were, don’t you think?”

I sighed. “This is just so complicated and I have no answers. The only person who does is my father, but he’s refused to tell me anything about what happened all those years ago. There are so many possible explanations for everything. I have no fucking clue what to believe, who to trust…who I really am,” I quivered.

“Do you really think you need to know what your father did or didn’t do to know who you are? I know who you are, Mack,” Jenna said. “I’ve known that for years. You’re one tough bitch. You have a hard exterior, but you love with your whole heart, although you refuse to show when you’ve been let down by those you care about. You always put others ahead of yourself. You always push to achieve greatness, and because of that, because of your influence, I’m a better person. Your past, your roots have no bearing on who you are. Maybe everything you’ve been through has turned you into the woman you are today, and I’m thankful for that because I
love
who you are, Mack, regardless of the skeletons lurking in your closet.”

Mackenzie

T
HE
FLICKER
OF
THE
T
elevision was bright against the darkness that surrounded me. I kept replaying the same national newscast I had seen at the bar, now able to recite each word from memory.

How?
I kept asking myself.

How did the media connect my mother to the woman she became after we disappeared? Was it someone involved in the investigation? Or was it the anonymous source from whom the reporter was getting her information? I always knew my mother’s death wasn’t just an accident. Was the source the one who killed her? Or was it someone else? My questions were mounting with each passing moment.