Secure Desire Chase Security Series Book 1 “To hell with the bastard. He doesn’t own your right to come here. Look at the sights you are missing.” Sophie pointed to two handsome men working on laptops. “They are ’re serious eye candy.” “You’re right, Soph. Maybe it is time.” Sophie turned serious. “Cass, you have to say something. You can’t let Wilds get away with this.” “Look, I stopped him before he got too far. If I report it, it’s ‘he said, she said.’ And, Soph, believe me, I am not the first female agent Wilds has done this to.” Sophie scowled. “You can live with that?” “This time, I have no choice. I am not the one to fight this battle. Wednesday night is the event, and when the job is complete, I’ll be free of him. I can come back to our division. Besides, the reality is, even without my personal history, if I say anything, I’m a pariah.” The athletically thin, raven-haired woman with golden-hazel eyes tapped her fiery red fingernails against the tabletop. “Cassie, please. If this were happening to me, you’d be rattling sabers, screaming sexual harassment.” “Sophie, you know what this is. Wilds has a lot of power. You also know the FBI is part of the good ole boys club. I had to jump through extra hoops to get where I am. It’s a temporary assignment.” Her voice was low. “No one will help without it backfiring on them. I can’t ask anyone to risk his or her career.” She placed the catalog of Nouveau Art in front of them, effectively changing the topic. “What do you say, after Memorial Day, a weekend in New York?” Suddenly, Cassie’s skin prickled. A repellant smell swarmed her senses: an oriental cologne with amber notes mixed with the odor of sweat and clove cigarettes. An overpowering feeling of nausea washed over her, and goosebumps erupted down her arms. The visceral reaction was so strong, she wrapped her fingers around her cup to ward off the icy feeling enveloping her. She scanned the area. No one appeared threatening or familiar. The aroma dissipated into a cloud of steam from a fresh latté. She concentrated hard to maintain her flagging self-control. Breathe in. One, two, three. Out. Cassie focused on her watch. “Soph, I’m sorry. Gotta go.” She ran out of the door. *** The hot black coffee scalded his tongue. He ran his thin fingers through his messy white-blond hair while his other hand reached for another sugar packet. His heart sped up after spotting Cassie in the corner with her friend. A display of the newest bestsellers provided him with a way to get closer. Mmm, Cassiopeia Ellis. Look at you all put together. You look a lot better than the last time I saw you, my girl who got away. I think you are worth a repeat performance. He felt the tingles of arousal. I wonder if you will come willingly this time— or if you will require some assistance. Another thought crossed his drug-addled mind: Maybe I can make a little cash on the deal, too? Cassiopeia Ellis, I missed you. *** Inside a cheerful family den, Ian Chase sat relaxed on the buttery yellow, red, and colonial blue-striped, overstuffed couch across from FBI Deputy Assistant Director Luke Paulsen. He removed a file from his briefcase. “Everyone all right?” Luke asked, taking a sip from a glass of ice water. “A few scrapes and a sprained knee. Nothing steri-strips and some ice packs can’t cure.” Ian flashed a carefree smile, being less than candid about his team’s injuries. Luke scanned the file’s contents. “How’s Kieran enjoying married life? It’s been almost a year now?” he inquired about Ian’s younger brother with a laugh. “Bet Lil and Declan can’t wait for a grandchild.” “You know it. Now they are in a Find Ian a Wife phase. Mom’s better at executing a covert mission than JSOC. I have to tell you, enemy insurgents are easier to handle than her. Thank God Esther screens my appointments well. If one more woman stops by the office with a charitable cause to discuss or is in the neighborhood with cookies...” Luke shook his head, amused. “I should hook her up with Rachel. None of the boys have a regular girl. Each promised to give her one week’s notice so she can get a dress in time for the wedding.” Both men laughed. Their discussion was interrupted by the loud barks of the Paulsens’ Labrador. *** Cassie drove up to the six-bedroom, four-story, white Federalist home in Georgetown in her metallic blue hybrid. The clapboard house with terraced porches overlooking the landscaped backyard brought her a sense of peace. After the haunting deaths of her parents and younger brother twelve years earlier, Luke and Rachel Paulsen became her guardians. The sixteen-year-old Cassie was treated as their daughter and a sister to the Paulsens’ five sons. During a quick walk up the cobblestone front path, Cassie noted her Uncle Luke’s black, FBI-issued Chevrolet Tahoe in the driveway. She also noticed two black sedans parked five hundred feet down the block with two occupants in each vehicle. Cassie needed to talk through the bookstore incident before dinner and before her Aunt Rachel came home from her job as a social worker in a DC elementary school. But first, she needed to discuss the suspicious vehicles. That thought short-circuited when she saw a sharp, expensive Ducati Diavel motorcycle parked at the top of the driveway. A big black lab greeted her in the foyer with leaps, barks, and squeals. “Knight, down.” In his excitement, the lumbering, hundred-pound dog knocked Cassie off- balance. “Damn.” She landed hard on her bottom, the bottle of wine in her hand almost hitting the floor. “Cassie? Are you okay?” Luke called out. She yelled back over the barking, “I’m fine, Uncle Luke. Just my pride, but I saved the wine.” As she got up, Knight lifted her holster off her waist with his big jaws. “Knight, I’m going to kill you. Stop. It’s a good thing you’re cute. Knight, freeze!” She jogged through the living room and into the adjoining den behind the naughty dog. Cassie ran headlong into the room just in time to see Knight drop her slobbered-on weapon into the lap of the man sitting across from her uncle. Cassie pulled to a halt, almost dropping the wine again. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry.” She was flustered by the man’s presence. He seemed unfazed by the spit-soaked holster. “I’m guessing this belongs to you?” The man managed to catch the wine and hand her the weapon at the same time. His electric blue eyes widened. Cassie couldn’t find her voice. The clean-shaven man—sitting there in jeans and a fitted, navy blue sweater stretched across a muscular chest, exposing a smattering of black hair with sleeves rolled to his elbows—looked magazine-cover handsome. “Thank you.” Cassie wiped the holster against her silky parachute pants and hooked it back on her hip, unable to take her eyes from his. Luke Paulsen moved around the couch to pull her into a bear hug. “Pumpkin! You’re early. I thought you were hanging with Sophie. Not that I am unhappy you’re here.” He pressed her back with outstretched arms. “Are you eating? You look too thin.” Cassie winced from embarrassment. “Yes, sir. I’m eating. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting.” *** Ian observed Luke’s worried gaze. Now standing, the six-foot-three-inch Adonis watched Cassie with a spark in his eye. The memory from six years ago flooded back to him. Auburn waves were pulled into a demure low bun, dressed in a vintage Halston ombré silk dress and sleek navy Valentino peep-toe heels. Her vibrant, jungle green eyes glowed as brightly as her smile. “Well, Luke, where have you been hiding this beauty?” At the compliment, Cassie smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. Her expression appeared well practiced. “Excuse me. Ian Chase, this is my niece, Cassie.” Ian grasped her extended hand and resisted the desire to lean down and kiss her cheek. Instead, he held her gaze. “Have we met before?” she asked. Ian nodded and smiled. “We have.” Doe eyes turned alarmed. He felt a sudden need to comfort her. Where did that idea come from? “Pleased to see you again, Dr. Ellis. We met at the National Gallery six years ago. You stole hearts and had the crowd eating out of your hands.” A haunted look clouded her gaze. “It’s Modine now, but thank you for the compliment. It was fun. I had the waiters put laxatives in the appetizers. It loosened the group up a bit.” Ian’s lips twitched at her sense of humor. “I’m glad I missed that.” A glance at her left hand kicked up his heartbeat — no wedding ring. “Mr. Chase, could I borrow my uncle for a moment?” Luke Paulsen’s facial expression shift was almost invisible, but Ian still managed to observe the slight change. His intrigue with Cassie was growing. Her body had changed since he first saw her at the museum. Her five-foot-one frame was tight, lean, and fit. Those striking eyes seemed less carefree and more guarded. *** In the hall, Cassie asked about the two sedans. Luke’s laugh was hearty. “Cassie, come back into the den. Ian, your team is losing their touch. She noted both sedans.” Ian’s brow arched with amusement. “I’m sorry to cause you alarm, Ms. Modine. They are part of my security team.” She let her guard down for a brief moment. “Hmm, they must love the Ducati.” Protecting a person on a high-performance bike was not easy. A man of his economic stature faced a multitude of threats. She scratched Knight’s ears to find something to do with her sweaty palms. Her heart still pounded with her earlier fear and something else. She remembered the feeling from once before in her life—the night she met a bearded stranger at the museum. It was the last moment before her life was torn apart a second time. “Cassie, Ian and Christian made it through BUD/S together.” BUD/S was basic underwater demolition and SEAL training. Christian was the eldest Paulsen son. “Ian was also Caleb’s platoon leader for a short time.” Cassie shifted uneasily. Is he the same man? His name was Ian too.  “Come sit. Ian and I just finished a bit of business. How’s work?” Cassie frowned, “I hate him. Wilds is a misogynistic ass.” The words fell out of her mouth and, Cassie didn’t need to see her uncle’s expression to realize he was expecting a less upfront conversation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chase. I usually think before I speak.” “Please call me Ian. I’m assuming you are talking about Supervisory Special Agent Greg Wilds and his ego.” Cassie shot a worried gaze at her uncle. Before Luke could speak, Ian said, “It’s okay. Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me.” He handed her the small credentials wallet holding her FBI identification, which Knight also stole. Cassie flushed. “Goodness. I’m sorry, Mr. Cha … Ian, if I offended you with my comment. Oh, God. I never thought you would know him. If he’s a friend, I do apologize.”  “Don’t worry. Greg and I have known each other for a long time. Please don’t judge me.” It seemed like he could not take his eyes off her. “I’d better get going. I’ll leave you to your uncle.” He reached for her hand, his huge palm dwarfing her petite fingers. “Good day, Cassie. I look forward to seeing you again.” The brief touch confirmed what Cassie’s body knew: Ian Chase was her bearded stranger. I wish things could be different. You won’t like me once you know what I am. *** Luke walked Ian to the front door. “Thank you. Chase Security came through again. It would be a Homeland nightmare if Dr. Breckenridge spent one more day in their custody. If it wasn’t for you and your team…” Luke’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I will tell them. Call us at any time. My best to Rachel and Team Paulsen.” That was his nickname for the five Paulsen sons. He glanced down the hall. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Luke asked,. “Yes, sir. She is.” A sad look passed Luke’s eyes. “She’s dear to us.” Ian nodded and moved to the bike. Tapping his Bluetooth, he said, “I want a complete background check on FBI Special Agent Dr. Cassie Ellis Modine.” Secure Again Chase Security Series Book 2 Tuesday, July 9th Dr. Elizabeth Reed walked into the department of medical records. For privacy reasons, non-active files could not be accessed via computer. "Hello, may I see these files, please?" Naomi Sanchez took the list from her. "There are quite a few listed. Why do you need them?" Digging her shoe into the linoleum floor, her expression matched a little girl caught playing with her mom's makeup. "Shh, don't tell anybody; I forgot to include my admission summary in a few charts. The bigwigs mailed me an admonition. I want to make sure I didn't miss any more." The real reason for her review she kept private. The cases pertained to transports from the Silverton Jail. She suspected abuse by the jailers. "Okay. The third office on the left is empty." Papers in hand, Elizabeth closed and secured the door behind her. A shiver ran through her body as she read each operative report. Pictures showed similar patterns of hemorrhage. After photographing several pages, she composed herself and returned the folders with a wave. "Thank you. Have a nice day." *** Martin "Farmer" Bailey spent his morning weeding the flower beds of the Falls Church, Virginia, foreclosure he bought on Lake Barcroft. The six-bedroom lakefront home was a haven from his job as Chief Executive Officer for the restructured Chase Security International. The shower sprayed away a layer of dirt and perspiration. Humming, he remembered working on his family farm as a kid. Thoughts turned to a cherished woman from his youth—Elizabeth. As he was toweling off, Mercutio, his clownish coon cat, meowed, his magical yellow eyes glowing. "What? Are you thinking of Queen Mab?" Then he quoted from Romeo and Juliet, "She gallops night by night through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love." With a sigh, he put the past where it deserved to be and proceeded to the office. *** The words on the phone prompted disbelief. Grabbing her lab coat, Elizabeth ran for the pediatric emergency room. Calling an adult practitioner for a child was rare. "Lou, what's coming in?" Louella Miranda, the ER attending, acknowledged her and the approaching contingent. "Where's Kat Archer?" Elizabeth inquired about the hospital’s pediatric trauma surgeon. "In the OR. The cops are coming in on their own with a little kid found on the side of the road. Severe injuries are all the dispatcher said.” “For those of you who haven't met me, my name is Beth Reed. If you cannot perform the job I ask from you, speak up." Silverton Police Lieutenant Shaun Murray came running through the doors with the small victim wrapped in a blue wool cloak. Shaun, ashen and sweating, placed the child atop the stretcher. "Help..." Assessing eyes focused on the task and never took notice of the cop about to become ill as his gaze darted between the table and her. "A farmer repairing an irrigation canal. My God....never in my life... How could someone do this?" "Beth, got this?" Dr. Miranda guided the lieutenant from the room. "Let's go. Which OR?" Inside the green tiled room, two fellows, the group's senior members, looked at her with shocked eyes floating above their masks. The intonation of her voice snapped them to attention. "One bleed at a time. Life, limb, eyesight." The war zone mantra she mastered volunteering with the UN in Gaza served her well. The youngster on her table was almost ripped in two with the left leg crushed beyond repair. Unable to tell the sex of the child; it was necessary to extend the abdominal incision. "Focus, our job is to save...save this little girl." Removing the little girl's limb was the least complicated part. The staff applied the wealth of their anatomy knowledge, and Beth used all her skills. Four painstaking hours later, she thanked everyone for their hard work. By the conclusion, she learned everyone's name. "Dr. Ryan, please check in with Dr. Archer. Keep a close eye on our Jane Doe." "Dr. Reed, is she gonna make it?" the young fellow asked. "There’s a possibility. Now, a combination of luck, skill and hope, with a solid need for God's help takes over." Shaun Murray was pacing the corridor when Elizabeth left the OR. "Dr. Reed?" "Lieutenant." "Um, I brought in the child. Did...?" His voice wavered. "The little girl survived the procedure." Elizabeth kept walking. "Did you find anything to identify her?" Eyes heavy with grief greeted hers. "Sorry, I wish. Maybe if she wakes up." She picked up her pace. A hand on her shoulder slowed her down. "How can you be so cold? You saw what happened to her." A purple clog squeaked as she turned. "Of course, I spent the last four hours putting her back together. Lieutenant, would you ask that question of a male surgeon? Now, if you’ll excuse me." With her office in sight, she hurried to it before unlocking the door and pressing her back against it. As she slid to the floor, tears started to fall. The image of the little girl she operated on played over in her head. A screaming alert gave her little time to work through her emotions. *** Late Morning, Tuesday, July 9th "Time of death: 11:42. Thank you, everyone." The students stood in the resuscitation room saddened by losing the nineteen-year-old man. "Dr. Perry, come with me. Time to tell the family," Elizabeth said. "I’m not sure how to do this." Dr. Keith Perry, an intern, appeared frightened. "Time to learn. Stand by this time. Grief takes many forms, so be prepared for anything. What happened to their family member must be conveyed with respect, using understandable terms. Do not use euphemisms. Be sympathetic, share a tear. Never pretend to feel something you don't. Stop being a doctor the second you lose the anxious feelings rumbling in your gut. Stay with me, Dr. Perry. Everyone else, we will assemble in the conference room for a post mortem." The two fellows pursuing surgical critical care curricula, six other residents in the surgery education path, two additional interns and four students filed out. *** Dr. Randall Knox sat eating a sandwich and reading a cigar aficionado magazine at the conference room table with his feet propped up. Chuckling, he perused the fourteen sad faces walking in. "What, Wonder Doc kill another one?" "Dr. Knox, I think we did everything conceivable," Dr. Connor Caine, a senior fellow said. "You think, Dr. Caine? As an attending physician here for ten years, let me teach you something. Wonder Doc shows up here eighteen months ago from Hopkins, and the earth revolves around her. The scalpel she wields isn't a golden lasso of obedience, compelling a person to live. Not everyone is salvageable." *** A group of people sat huddled in the corner of the waiting room. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Arthur Maxwell's family." A man appearing to be in his forties stood. "I'm Ruben Maxwell, Arthur's father." "Mr. Maxwell, " she said, then introduced herself and her intern. "We are sorry to tell you, but despite extraordinary measures, his injuries were too grave. Arthur died.” One woman wailed. Ruben pulled another woman into his embrace. "This is my wife, Leslie. Tell us what happened to our boy." Keith witnessed Elizabeth sit with the family while she explained everything attempted. "Arthur didn't respond. Please accept our condolences." "May I see my baby?” his mother spoke in a hushed voice. "Yes, of course. Follow us.” A sheet concealed everything but Arthur’s head. A social worker and the chaplain, Reverend Harold Brookfield, attended to the Maxwells to offer support. Leslie Maxwell turned to her. "Thank you for trying to help my son." "Again, our deepest sympathy is with you. Here is my card, if you need to speak with me." Elizabeth leaned over her deceased patient and whispered, "Lord be with you." *** After the intern and surgeon stepped into the meeting room, Randall Knox gave her an unsettling once-over. Most colleagues would exit the room, but he sought every opportunity to irritate her and lower the opinion of her apprentices. They discussed the patient's death, with Elizabeth praising their work and pointing out ways to remedy difficulties. With patience, she encouraged and answered questions about procedures and options. "You got some practice, but it’s a waste of resources. What you did was useless. A lesson for you all: don't let pride rule you," Randy spoke without looking up. "What do you mean, Dr. Knox?" Krystal Slater, a second-year resident, knitted her brows. "A still heart is a dead heart." Knox's voice turned Elizabeth cold. "The kid died in the helicopter. Wonder Doc can't resist a glory call, poaching from the peds service too." Straining to stay composed finishing the critique, Elizabeth dismissed everyone to return to their assignments after she felt assured, they dealt with the loss—some for the first time. Aware of the “July effect,” or what the most morbid would call “the killing season”—when the majority of experienced trainees moved on, and the new residents were more prone to mistakes—she had to be diligent. What they absorbed would impact their future abilities. Early in her career, Elizabeth promised herself when the time came, she would be the teacher she wanted and sometimes never had. After the room emptied, she turned her ire on Knox. "Who the hell do you think you are? Please tell me. First, I did not poach a pediatric patient. The ER asked for my help because the child’s condition would not wait for Kat. And glory? That is plain offensive. About MY victim, Arthur Maxwell, bad enough you questioned my call, but if you doubted my reasoning to continue the efforts, it was unprofessional to ask in front of anyone, much less fresh learners. For your information, a teenager with a healthy heart warrants every benefit.” Her outrage and frustration exploded. "You've been on my case from the day I started. What gives?" His eyes remained fixed on the article he was reading. Furious, she left the room and grabbed a small protein smoothie from the cafeteria, downing it in no time. The Neonatal ICU, her place for comfort, was located on the eighth floor. The neonatal ICU cared for the region's premature or sick newborns. Dressing in an isolation gown, she entered a nursery for the addicted. Babies born to addicted mothers suffered severe effects, including seizures, twitching, fussiness, excessive crying, poor feeding, slow weight gain, breathing problems, fever, trouble sleeping and lots of yawning, diarrhea or throwing up, and stuffy noses, which could easily make them stop breathing. They all benefitted from love.  "Hiya, Beth." Colleen Rice smiled at her. "There is a new little one. Claude is in isolette 4. His mom used meth until her labor. The meds help a bit, but..." Elizabeth waved away the nurse's guilt. A tiny boy was wearing a blue hat and crying in jags. "Hey, handsome boy." When she scooped him up, his body stiffened. She opened the blanket to let his limbs move. Balancing the newborn over her arm, she sat in a rocking chair. A couple of tries and the little boy latched on to a bottle. Singing a song filled her with fond memories as she thought about the man, she never stopped loving. “Home Alone” –he sang it to her the night she had her wisdom teeth extracted. The medication made her scared and upset her stomach. Unlike her parents, who left her to attend a function, he refused to go. A warm remembrance of a baritone voice merged with her version. Nothing to worry your head about today, You are always safe in my embrace. As I gaze into your beautiful face, My heart fills with my love for you. We have a lifetime of things to do, But all you need is to rest without dismay. The infant settled down, and, once he fell asleep, found some peace. Dr. Lois Massey, an obstetrician, joined her friend. "Adorable, isn't he?" "Yes. What's his story?" "Mom is a long-time meth user. Urine and blood are positive. After detox, he’s going to her mother in Nebraska. Thankfully, Mom signed over her parental rights. Not great, but better than most.” The two women pondered Claude. "Bad morning, huh?" "You could say that." Before saying more, her pager vibrated. Elizabeth returned the baby to his isolette. "Gotta go." *** The intensive care unit was busy. A duo of corrections officers guarded one of the rooms. "What's going on?" Miles Gerba, the intensivist on duty, stood to answer her. "There’s an issue concerning one of Randy Knox's patients, a Silverton jail admission. Came in last night after a dispute. Dr. Simms did a liver embolization, but I don't think it worked. I paged Randy, who thinks he's malingering. Ordered Hailey Ullman to evaluate him, and per Randy, she cleared him. His BP is holding, but the man is pale, sweaty and shields from any touch," Miles reported worriedly. "Order another CT. I'll evaluate the patient and deal with Knox. Don't ever worry about calling me." "Thanks. Beth. These bruises happened over time. The man can't go back to the same cell—he will end up back here or worse." "The warden decides placement; we can only ask." The lead physicians, accompanied by two third-year residents, Byron Hall, the wide-eyed Hailey Ullman and the intensivist, walked to the prisoner’s room. Two State of Iowa corrections officers from Strongford Penitentiary stood in front of the door. "Good morning." The taller CO held the door for her. "Miles, thought you said Silverton?" "The prisoner is in our custody now. After his conviction, he was due to be transferred to us. We took over this morning," the polite second guard said. "Thank you." Elizabeth stepped between the CO's. The patient demonstrated a gray pallor and a sweat-covered forehead. "Sir, I'm Dr. Reed. Not feeling so well, hmm? Can you tell me when this started?" She washed her hands, and when she snapped her gloves on, it made him jump. "Never stopped, not since I got here," he said. "I'm so nauseous." "Did you tell anyone?" She gestured Tommy Kline, head nurse, inside. Tommy frowned. “I called Dr. Knox for an order." "Give our patient 8.0 mg ondansetron IV for nausea." With no regard for the ordering hierarchy, she took responsibility. "Please, may I examine you?" His abdomen displayed the same bruising she saw on other Silverton inmates. "How did this happen? Who hurt you?" "My bunkmate," he replied in a flat tone. "Did you strike your head?" She palpated his head and neck. "No." Elizabeth chewed her cheek. The convict had one round bruise on his back and two on his belly. Holding his hands in her now ungloved palms, she spoke to him, "I believe you are bleeding into your belly. Radiology will be up to take you for a CT scan to give me a better look. After, I'll meet you in the operating room. Dr. Hall is going to get you ready. Dr. Ullman, please notify Dr. Knox. If it’s safe for you, I’lI make sure you receive some more pain medication. Don't be afraid." Dr. Ullman, please notify Dr. Knox.” "Dr. Knox will be mad." Hailey's lip quivered. When Elizabeth's brow arched to a near perfect vee, the two male doctors backed up. "Dr. Ullman, why did you go to medical school?" "To be a physician." The resident stared at her feet. "Explain why our patient needs more testing and another operation." After listening to Hailey's explanation, Elizabeth's volume notched up. "With someone displaying symptoms like this, do you think Dr. Knox's poor frame of mind or the patient’s life is more crucial? "Patient's life." "Good answer. Make that call, assist Dr. Hall, and get me the tests. Be ready to go in one hour. One more thing." Nurses and other doctors stopped in their tracks. "No one is to refer to any patient by category again. They are all human beings, entitled to equal caretaking. Are we clear?" Diatribe complete, she spoke with the corrections officers. "Gentlemen, our patient’s condition necessitates major surgery." The first guard nodded. "I'll notify the prison." "Do all corrections officers carry those?" She pointed to the flashlight. "Yes, ma'am." Making the correlation, she wrote her orders and rushed to her office before she started the operation. From her bottom desk drawer, she pulled a list of other suspicious wounds and the photos. Everyone had circular bruises. Confirming they were transfers from Silverton jail, she googled the number and dialed. "Infirmary, please. This is Dr. Elizabeth Reed from Horizon Hospital. An inmate came to us last night. I’m trying to find out any history you have, including how he was injured." Trudy Saperstein, clinic nurse, was silent for a long pause. "Dr. Reed, according to our records, the prisoner you received was harmed during a fight with another con. Prompt arrangements for his transport were made after he was found." "Is he having trouble with this other prisoner? Also, do you have any idea what he was hit with or how long the incident lasted?" "I don't know. The chart says nothing more than you know." Trudy's cheery tone disappeared. "Give me your number, and I’ll ask the clinic physician to call you." "Thank you." Elizabeth's phone chimed. The OR and her patient were ready. *** Sergeant Austin Bailey walked the bank of the drainage ditch looking for clues about the identity and circumstances of the young child. An orange scrap of cloth—a piece of a prisoner’s uniform, caught his eye. He bagged it. "Shit." Another ten feet down the road, inside the trench, a naked, beaten man lay unmoving. He jumped down to assess whether he was alive or dead. At Austin's contact, the man groaned. "This is Bailey. I need an ambulance for a wounded man right away; location is down the Jackson culvert." He shook the injured man’s shoulder, trying to wake him. "What's your name?" "Ha...nk." "Help is coming, Hank. Who did this to you?" "Guar...ds...," he said before losing consciousness. Austin swallowed back bile as he examined the man in an attempt to render first aid. Hank's ankles and wrists presented with handcuff marks, and there was evidence of a vicious sexual assault. A Be On the Lookout warning about three escaped prisoners was issued earlier that morning. He keyed up again. "What are the names of the three escapees?" "Checking, Sergeant... Otis Frable, Ervin Pitts and Hank Price," a voice responded. "ETA on the ambulance is five minutes." "Thank you." Guards? Waiting with the man, he phoned his friend and colleague Shaun Murray. After it went to voicemail, he called his brother, Martin. "Bro, give me a buzz tonight. Need to talk to you about something." He cued his radio. "Dispatch...." A cloud of dirt moved fast toward him. Secure Heart Chase Security Series Book 3 Thursday, May 11th “I’m an emotional recluse,” Julian Dupart remembered telling Ian Chase. His heart had remained in the stunning ivory casket. Resurrection vines crawled along the sprawling oak branches, forming a canopy above the Passebon family crypt. Julian approached, each step feeling heavier than the last. Carrying a large bouquet of white magnolias, he made his way to a stone bench. “Bonjour, Chérie. Happy Birthday. I brought your favorites.” The fragrant flowers rested beneath the name Delphine Passebon Dupart. Julian's hand moved in the sign of the cross, and he bowed his head in prayer. Inhaling, he said, “I have a new duty station. Ian is sending me to San Diego.” A memory of a conversation from 1994 floated in on the Louisiana mist. “Chérie, we’re going to San Diego.” He picked Delphine up and swung her around. “Julian, I’m so proud of you, Julian. A SEAL.” Delphine peppered his face with kisses. “Just know, I’m going to exterminate those toad women.” She brandished her protective claws in reference to the women who chased Navy SEALs. “Toad women? Chérie, they’re frog hogs. And you, Mrs. Dupart, will be my only one.” Giggles fell from her lips as he tossed her over his shoulder and headed toward their bedroom. At the grave site, the humid Louisiana air weighed him down. “Chérie, this is a big move. I’ll be the second- in- command of the entire San Diego branch. Del, I don’t know if I can do this without you,” his Cajun-accented voice cracked. “Jul-i-an?” a familiar voice called his name. A man and woman Julian had avoided for the last five years joined him. “Mère Genevieve and Père Marcel, bonjour,” Julian said, his body stiff as his in-laws enveloped him in a hug. Genevieve Passebon stepped back and took Julian’s face between her hands. “We’ve missed you. You look well.” “Genevieve, let him be. Julian, we brought a picnic; eat with us.” Marcel pointed to the bench Julian vacated. “It’s good to see you.” He nodded and sat. Julian stammered, “I’m sorry, I…” “There is nothing to apologize for. You are a very good man who loved our daughter in health and sickness. You never left her side. Pain runs through the heart like no other sense, but, Julian, the heart is one of our body’s miracles that can grow fresh circulation.” Doctor Marcel Passebon rubbed his own chest. “Delphine, shake some life back into this man.” Genevieve knelt before her daughter’s grave. “Now we eat.” Julian chuckled at his mother-in-law’s familiar refrain. She said it to him every time he returned home from a deployment. Control over his strained emotions was fraying. “There are three sandwiches inside the picnic basket. Were you expecting someone else?” “No, we knew you would be here. You have not missed a birthday. We watched and let you be.” Genevieve’s lips turned up. “Delphine wants you to know it is time.” Genevieve Passebon was a medical doctor, but she grew up in the deep backwaters of Louisiana, where she was raised as a faith healer or traiteuse. Delphine had also embraced those beliefs. The heaviness that had rested for five years beneath his breastbone lightened a bit. “My mom keeps me updated on everyone. Are you two going to slow down?” Julian sipped from a bottle of water. “Marcel retired from the hospital, and now he works with me at the community wellness center too.” Julian’s father-in-law’s hair had whitened, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. “What is new in your life?” The afternoon went fast. Delphine’s parents and he included Delphine in their conversation as if she were present, and as the sun began to set, they packed up their picnic. Julian was the last to walk away from the grave. “Je t’aime, ma Chérie.” As they reached the parking lot, Genevieve turned and placed her weathered hands over Julian’s heart. “Jul-i-an, open your heart. There is room to love again.” Julian hugged his in-laws and promised to stay in touch. Maybe he would succeed this time. *** Thursday, May 26th - Washington DC Julian’s doorbell rang. “Come in.” He zipped his suitcase closed. “You do realize I could be a mass murderer?.” Martin “Farmer” Bailey teased his friend. “And you would be dead.” A MK-25 rested in his hand. “I thought I’d be getting a driver.” “What do I look like?” Martin dangled keys in his hand. “It’s not usual for the CEO of a company to drive a subordinate,” Julian joked as he dragged his bag off the table. “You take this one, and I’ll grab the other two.” As he locked the door, a memory of a different knock on the door crossed his mind. From the first time they met at a FOB in Iraq, Martin Bailey became a trusted friend. Under a billion-dollar restructure of the Chase Group, Chase Security would now be its own company, branded under the name Chase Security International, with Martin named as the new CEO, and Julian promoted to the Deputy Executive Director of CSI-San Diego. Five years earlier Thump, thump, thump. Martin pounded on Julian’s front door. “Jule, are you in there?” he yelled. Thump, thump, thump. His fist bounced hard against the wood. Martin pulled his key from his pocket and let himself in. It had been two weeks since Delphine’s funeral. Julian’s mother had called Martin after her son disappeared from their home without a word a week earlier.   Julian maintained a calm front throughout the funeral process, but after one step inside the darkened home, Martin knew differently. Julian always managed his alcohol intake, but now the former pristine home reeked of alcohol, dirty clothes, and stale pizza. “Jule, where are you?” Martin searched from room to room. Making his way up the steps, he entered the master bedroom. The bed was in complete disarray. “Jule?” He sighed. His friend was curled in a fetal position on the floor in Delphine’s closet, an empty bottle of bourbon clutched in his fist, a full bottle at his side. He sported days of beard and reeked of body odor; his usual twinkling blue eyes were dull and listless. “Merde, I miss her.” A wave of tears followed. “You’re gonna take it one day at a time. I’m here with you the whole ride.” Martin wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Together they cried and shared stories until dawn. The bottle sat full between them. Julian learned later that Martin made the call that saved him. With the support of professionals and his friends, Julian took his last drink and started his SMART recovery. On the car ride to the airport, Julian watched DC flow by. “How was the trip home?” Martin asked. “I saw my folks and met my new niece. I had a good talk with Del too. Her parents surprised me at the grave on her birthday, and we shared a meal.” No longer wearing a black mourning band, he looked at the sunburned mark on his wrist. “Her maman had a talk with me. ‘You cannot fill your heart with so much grief that you have no room for love.’ “As I was leaving, I could hear Del’s voice on the breeze,” Julian confided in Martin. “I worry I’ll forget what she sounded like. She told me, ‘I love the pilgrim soul in you.’ It’s from a Yeats poem. Mon frère, she made me a better man. I guess the shores of San Diego are calling a second time. It will be good to catch up with my brothers.” He exhaled a wistful breath. “I told you I’m with you the entire ride. Are you okay?” “The only easy day was yesterday, right? Are you ready?” “I guess that’s the question for both of us. I’m only a phone call or flight away.” Martin placed a small, laminated card in his friend’s hand. Julian stared down and smiled at the four points that were only initials on the card. B, C, M, L. Build and maintain motivation. Cope with urges. Manage thoughts, feelings and behaviors. Lead a balanced life. *** The Chase Group jet soared through the white marshmallow clouds. Julian sipped a cup of black coffee and read The San Diego Times. “Ian thought of everything. We have sunshine for the weekend.” He waved the paper at Eric Seton. Eric, a former Air Force parajumper, a nationally registered paramedic, and a certified physician assistant, who also held a master’s degree in healthcare administration, had been named as the new head of the San Diego branch’s medical center. He tapped his foot. “Julian, how can you drink coffee? My stomach is in knots.” “Deep, slow breaths, mon ami. All of us are on the same ship. Launch the lifeboats.” His chuckle rumbled inside the cabin. “I never realized you were such a smartass.” Eric’s lips turned up. “Look, worst case scenario, we fail, and we end up on the street, homeless.” Julian smirked. “We are all well -qualified. We have until October second to get things under control.” *** “Walter,” Lila Smythe Dupree called for her butler. Her heels clicked on the marble steps of her Charleston, South Carolina, waterfront home. “Yes, ma’am.” The elderly employee appeared at her elbow. “Where is that yellow envelope I left here?” She knocked on the antique console table. “Ma’am, I didn’t see an envelope. I will keep my eyes open and alert the rest of the staff.” “Thank you. Have you seen Colton?” “He’s at the boathouse. Anything else, ma’am?” “No.” Lila walked out into the spring air. The azaleas were in bloom, and landscapers were trimming the shrubbery. Proceeding down a long, flower- lined cobblestone path toward the Elliot Cut, she found Colton Smythe. Lila's eldest child, lean and muscular in a visually appealing package, he was sunning himself beside their saltwater pool, listening to music. “Colton, what are you doing?” He removed one earbud. “Hello, Mother. I’m running a marathon.” She tapped her foot. “Colton, you’re not even packed. Your plane leaves at five.” “Fine, Mother.” He replaced the earbud in his ear. Lila frowned and headed back to the house. Colton closed his eyes and listened to the song. He slid his hand into his swim trunks and fantasized to the voice of singer Holly D., “Soon, dear sister.” *** San Diego “Dr. Behrens, welcome to Hillcrest.” The perky administrator looked the handsome man up and down. “I’m happy to be here.” Colton smiled at the physician recruiter. “I’m looking forward to participating in your robust fellowship program.” “Very good. Your orientation and hospital system credentials should be complete by June fifteenth. Does a July first start date work for you?” She licked her lower lip. Colton laughed. “Are you trying to tell me I’m a beginner?” “Not at all. How are you settling in?” the recruiter asked. “I close on my new home tomorrow.” *** “Tag?” Julian asked. “You in town?” Taggart Dupart answered. “Just landed.” Julian tipped his sunglasses over his eyes. “I’m heading into a meeting. Listen, I left a key in the condo management office for you. Dump your stuff, relax, and we can get some dinner when I get done.” “I appreciate you putting me up until I have a permanent place to set my head down. If it’s too much, I can stay in a hotel.” Julian’s shoulders shrugged. “Enough, big brother, I want to catch up.” Julian typed the address for Taggart’s condominium into his GPS. He stopped at the rental office for the key and let himself into his brother’s Spanish-style second-floor condo. Windows surrounded an open living room, dining room and kitchen area. Julian dropped his bags and picked up a note on the breakfast bar. Bedroom with blue comforter is yours. Sheets are clean. Julian put his stuff in his assigned room. He changed into shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed a bottle of water, his electronic tablet, and a pad and pen before he made his way onto the deck, where a glass-topped, wrought-iron table and chairs was positioned on a terrazzo floor. “Okay, Dupart. Let’s make a plan.” Pen to paper, he outlined his to-do list. A meeting with Ian and Kieran before he left DC made him uneasy. “What do you think about the changes? Kieran and I think this position is perfect for you,” Ian said. “The position or the location?” Julian’s jaw muscles tensed. “Both.” “You sound sure.” “We are. If you want me to regurgitate your resume: you have a bachelor’s degree in economics from the US Naval Academy; US Navy SEAL, Rank Lieutenant Commander; master’s degree in security studies from Georgetown. You have leadership and supervisory experience in the military and civilian arenas. You’re a superb tactician. Your sixth sense is uncanny. And you have the ability to charm people like no other. Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Ian shrugged. “Because I’m an emotional recluse.” “Jule, we hope being near your family will be a bonus, but we want you there for professional reasons. We are getting some negative feedback coming out of San Diego,” Kieran said. What kind of negative feedback?” Julian sat up higher in his seat. “Level of medical care is spotty. Security clients having issues. Mini fires Tony puts out when they are brought to his attention.” Kieran spoke of Tony Olivetti, the current head of the San Diego Division. “What does Tony say?” “He says he’s looking into things, fixes the immediate issue, but then a new one pops up. I think he’s overloaded and won’t say.” Ian worried his lip. “Alright, I’ll keep my eyes open.” “We have a short window. San Diego is going to take over as the flagship of the organization. With the new buildings, you will have the largest footprint in the organization.” Kieran gave him a tight smile. “And the largest responsibility, besides Martin.” Julian cocked his head. “And the largest responsibility, period. Kieran and I will give you whatever resources you need.” “I’ll make my assessment and let you know. Does Tony know, besides the promotion, you want me to take a look around?” Julian’s eyes locked on his bosses. “No,” the Chase brothers said in unison. On the deck, Julian signed into the San Diego management system. He hated computers, but his superior memory allowed him to remember usernames, passwords and operating instructions with ease. It also gave him the ability to attach names to titles and faces. Following Ian’s suspicions that Tony was overwhelmed, he looked at Tony’s upper command. Julian was locked in concentration when Taggart slid the glass doors to the deck open. “Hey.” Julian stood to embrace his brother. Taggart was a lieutenant in charge of the Special Investigations Unit for the San Diego Police Department. “Hey, little brother.” “Before we start to talk, dinner. I missed lunch. I’m starving. We can do take out or go out,” Taggart said. “Do you mind if we stay in?” Julian suppressed a yawn. “Take out it is. You still like Thai?” “Yeah.” Julian’s eyes brightened. The delivery arrived with a variety of seafood and steak with ground chili and garlic sauce, as well as a bunch of appetizers. “How was the flight?” “Great. I came in on the company jet with the new head of our San Diego medical division. It spoils you.” Julian chuckled. “I appreciate this. You have a really great place.” “Bro, you’re family.” He cocked his head., “This is a big move, I want to hear the whole story. How did you manage to get assigned to San Diego?” “I’m still trying to figure things out, but the short story is Ian and Kieran are reorganizing the company, and they know I have family here. At the beginning of May, they called a meeting, and here I am. Saturday, early, Eric and I have an appointment at the Chevy dealership downtown to grab our company car and with a realtor right after. You working?” “If you’re asking if I want to go with you, I’m in. Holy shit. A car. Are they buying the house too?” “They are facilitating the house hunting. Buying a place, not sure.” “What do you really do?” Taggart cocked his head. Julian had protected his family from what he did for a living, but now living close to them, he wouldn’t be able to. “The brochure answer is ‘The Chase Group is a high-end private security company, providing personal escorts, executive protection, providing mission support, security and training services to US and multinational corporations worldwide, as well as venture capital investments that support pro bono work.’ It cleared eight billion last year. “The re-organization is breaking off the security division and creating a separate medical division. As of the May meeting, I became the number two person in San Diego.” Julian stared out at the view. “The private face is…well… it’s called the Eagle’s Talon. It started with Ian and Kieran plus fifteen of us doing the routine stuff in between performing homeland security missions and providing non-traditional government intelligence and defense work at home and abroad.” “Non-traditional.” Taggart worked naval intelligence before he became a cop. “What’s your security clearance?” “Couillon.” Julian threw a shrimp at him. “If you must know, top secret with sensitive compartmentalized information with counterintelligence and full scope polygraph, DoD Q clearance and Yankee white clearance.” Julian used finger quotes to describe the nickname for presidential clearance. Taggart gagged. “I did ask, and. I’ll ask another annoying question. You don’t have to tell me, but how much do you make?” “Salary before the new position: eight-fifty. Now, one point five. Both plus perks. You do know, Mom and Dad were right, It doesn’t buy happiness.” “You miss her..” “Every day. It’s not as painful anymore.” Julian fingered the ring he wore around his neck. They finished their dinner, and, exhausted, Julian called it a night. Taggart’s guest room was simply furnished. Julian opened his briefcase and took out the one possession he brought everywhere. Delphine’s face smiled up at him. “Hello, Chérie. One day at a time, right?” The memory was still sharp. “Mr. Dupart, I’m so sorry. Delphine is out of time. Even if a heart becomes available, her other organs are failing,” the cardiologist said. “I don’t want her to suffer. Please.” Julian took a deep breath and returned to his wife’s side. “Bonjour, ma Chérie.” He lifted the oxygen mask and kissed her parched lips. “Jul-i-an.” Delphine Passebon Dupart smiled at the man she had loved from high school. “Promise…me.” The mask fogged with her exertion. Her hand struggled to reach his. “Shh.” Julian laced his fingers with hers. “I’m here.” “Jul-i-an, please. You…need…to…promise…me, you… will… find… someone… to… love…again,.” Delphine pleaded. “Do not…be alone. Julian’s eyes misted. “I promise.” He brushed her tears away. At dawn, Delphine took her last breath. “Del, I know you are watching. I’ll try.” He placed her framed photo on the night table, turned off the light and fell asleep.