Killer Cupid: The Redemption Series, #1

By Maeve Christopher

What happens when an assassin falls for a woman who is trying to kill herself?

The saga begins with an assassin in crisis...

David Lambrecht, aka Cupid, works for an international covert agency. He has a life of adventure, mystery, and accountability to only the most powerful in this world.

Unfortunately his past is catching up with him. His sanity -- and his life -- are at stake. In the midst of personal crisis, he must deal with a traitor who is selling government secrets and profiting from the international drug trade.

An unlikely "angel"...

Debbie Aldridge, a young artist, struggles in the isolation of an eating disorder amidst the extravagance of Beverly Hills. Her efforts to stand on her own, to succeed with her art, and to reach out to friends, are trampled by overbearing parents and by her addiction.

When her weak heart gives out, Debbie has a near death experience, a glimpse of heaven, and life changing words from her grandmother. She returns to life with a purpose. But she must find a woman called Cat.

And a prophet...

David's cousin Cat has visions of his peril -- and a white-haired girl with her hand on his heart. What will it take to save their lives?

The Redemption Series should be read in order:

Book #1: KILLER CUPID

Book #2: FAME, FORTUNE & SECRETS

Book #3: IN THE NAME OF GLORI

Book #4: LAST TANGLE IN PARIS

Book #5: MERCY'S PEN

• Language: English
• Publisher: HNI Books
• Release date: Nov 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781497756465

Maeve Christopher

Everyday people and situations provide fodder for Maeve Christopher's imagination. Keep asking "what if" and "why," and the plot thickens. What could be more fun? She currently lives in Massachusetts with a number of messy subplots and Freddie the tiger cat. Her Redemption Series is part family saga, part suspense and part love story -- with the touch of the Supernatural. Maeve loves to hear from readers. Find her on Facebook at Author Maeve Christopher or on her website: MaeveChristopher.com  

Book preview

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Karen Frisch Dennen, Janet Jones, Mary Ellen Latschar, Barbara LeClerc, Jeanne Paglio, Barbara Scully, Chris Senechal, and Carolyn Sullivan. You’ve helped me so much with this series—reading, re-reading, and giving valuable feedback.

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Killer Cupid

Contents

About Killer Cupid

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Special Offer

Cast of Characters

About the Author

Note from the Author

Excerpt from Fame, Fortune & Secrets

Other Books by Maeve Christopher

Copyright

Chapter One

David

Senator Joe Everett took the fighting chair, though he was not interested in fishing this trip. Perhaps it was a need to get business out of the way, so he could enjoy the holidays.

David Henning took a beer from the cooler and handed it to him. His bodyguard intervened and poured it into a glass. The Senator toasted him with a glass full of foam. Henning, we’re both busy men, and I know you have better places to be today – judging from those lovely ladies I saw you with recently.

He put the glass down on the cooler. I’m thinking Albert Santoro has outlived his usefulness.

Really? David took a seat on the bench across from Everett. He was surprised at the news. Hasn’t he been paying you?

Everett made a face. That’s not the point. He’s the lowest of the low.

David had to smile. And drug-trafficking is such a noble profession.

Everett grimaced. I think with Santoro out of the way we’ll both do a lot better. You’re a smart, capable guy. You could easily take over his business and grow it. I have no doubts.

And neither do I. But I’m not sure the time is right.

I am. Just do what you need to. Get him out of the way, and I’ll support you.

David rose from his seat and scanned the deck. I’ll start today.

Good. Let’s get this boat turned around. Head to shore.

David stepped back, and Senator Joe Everett watched open-mouthed as his five bodyguards fell like tin soldiers. When the first man plummeted off the side of the boat, he conveniently dropped his gun at the Senator’s feet. He struggled out of his chair and grabbed it, as the second man landed in front of him, spattering him with blood and beer.

His last bodyguard went down. Senator Everett blinked away the droplets and raised his weapon. David shot him through his right arm, and he slumped back into his seat. The gun hit the deck, and Everett gripped his arm in an attempt to stop the blood flow.

Cupid! You’re Cupid. You’re not David Henning.

David took the guns and tossed them overboard. He put his weapon in his belt and removed the Senator’s foot from the guard’s back, then heaved the body into the ocean.

There. That’s a bit tidier. David took a seat across from Everett.

The Senator was persistent. I said – you’re not David Henning. You’re Cupid. The assassin.

Why do you say that?

Five professionals—five bullets—right between the eyes. Who else can shoot like that?

David grinned. No one.

The Senator’s attention turned to his bloody arm. Why are you here?

Isn’t it obvious? You’ve upset people even more powerful than yourself. Now, have you anything more to say before you go?

Debbie

What’s become of my little angel? Mama’s bellowing carried through all thirty rooms of our house. Sometimes I’d sit in my closet to get away from the sound of her voice. But not today.

I slipped out the kitchen door, as she complained to Daddy about the embarrassment I caused them with my donation to the Christmas fundraiser. I smiled at the thought of my revenge, and headed next door to my friend Cindy’s by the back way. The Bainbridges’ chauffer, Peter, was in the driveway polishing the Bentley. I was in luck—he loved peanut butter chocolate bars almost as much as I did.

Peter, I need to go to the pharmacy and the bakery. Can you take me? I smiled sweetly, and he opened the door for me.

Is Miss Bainbridge joining you today, Miss Aldridge? He always insisted on calling me Miss Aldridge. But I never let Cindy know when I was going to the pharmacy. I sometimes kept Mama’s prescription blood pressure and sleeping pills. Plus I could stock up on laxatives without a bunch of questions, too.

No. I’m in kind of a hurry. I need some baked goods for one of Mama’s charity events. Would you like a dozen peanut butter chocolate bars?

We headed into Beverly Hills. Peter talked at me in his rearview mirror. Miss Bainbridge was so impressed with your gift to the fundraiser. It caused quite a stir.

I felt myself blushing. Sweat started to pour, and I squeaked out a lame reply. Oh. When I carved and painted hundreds of anatomically correct tiny hearts for Christmas ornaments, I hadn’t considered Cindy and her mom would see them at the charity fundraiser. I was only interested in upsetting my parents.

They forbade me to take medical illustration in college. They said it was inappropriate for a young lady of good breeding. They even went to the Dean with a list of material I would be permitted to study. I’d pretty much given up hope of ever having a life of my own.

But Cindy planned to have a get-together on New Year’s Day, and she was going to introduce me to the younger brother of a friend of hers. My parents would never have to know. It’s not like I expected he’d like me. But I was still pretty nervous about it. So I figured I could slim down a few more pounds before the party. I was about 104 pounds and 5’8" tall. My goal was to get under 100.

***

By Christmas Eve I was feeling fat and bloated, despite all the measures I’d taken. I was worried that boy would be at the Bainbridges’ dinner party. A bit unsteady from worry and purging, when I saw the massive tree in the foyer, I almost fell flat on the floor. I heard Mama gasp, and Daddy swore under his breath.

The branches were adorned with exquisite tiny white lights and hundreds of delicate anatomically correct heart ornaments. Cindy and her parents hugged me and praised my incredible artistic ability. They told me there was quite a bidding war for my original ornaments. My parents kept quiet.

The glow of the tree created a soft backdrop for the guests celebrating in the adjacent candlelit dining room. Merry conversation and laughter filled the mansion as three generations of the Bainbridge family and their guests enjoyed a sumptuous holiday dinner.

Frivolity came to a sudden end when Daddy swore at me. Damn it Debbie! Can’t you behave like a normal young lady and eat the food on your plate? What’s wrong with you? It’s Christmas for – Pete’s sake. There couldn’t be more food on the table. You’ve got to like something here. You haven’t eaten a bite. His temple visibly throbbing in anger as he yelled, Daddy was forced into silence as he choked on his words.

Mama slapped him on the back. George!

I cowered over my plate. The fork trembled in my hand. Daddy wouldn’t forgive me for instigating his outburst in front of all these people. No matter the Bainbridges had been their best friends forever.

Red-faced, Daddy took my plate and added mounds of vegetables and potato. Here now, young lady. Eat this!

Yes, Daddy, I whispered.

I carefully sliced a piece of meat into tiny shreds and pushed them around the plate. I tried to focus on the little pieces, blending them into the colorful vegetables. But I could see Daddy’s face deepen to purple watching me.

Mrs. Bainbridge rose from her seat with the gravy boat. Would you like some gravy for your potato, honey?

I nodded. My voice wouldn’t work. I tried not to look horrified as drops of gravy pelted the potato. I did the best I could to scrape the meat away from the liquid. I loved Mrs. Bainbridge, and I didn’t want to upset her. I could feel everyone watching in an uncomfortable silence.

Gradually hesitant conversation resumed at the table. I focused on my plate, examining the color and texture of each vegetable. The fork and knife kept moving, occasionally testing their consistency. I felt the pain and tightness in my throat dissipating as I drew myself into my own world.

I was startled by my best friend’s melodic voice telling a story of a Christmas long past. I listened intently. Cindy Bainbridge was the older sister I never had. Through the years, I’d often wished Cindy’s family could adopt me. Now, at age nineteen, that would be ridiculous, though it remained one of my fondest desires.

I wondered why such a beautiful young woman would have anything to do with me. Cindy was the epitome of the All-American girl, the athletic blonde, blue-eyed cheerleader with the perfect smile. Her thick wavy hair was cut in a sophisticated style that framed her face, falling just below her chin. At twenty-three, she had a youthful glow, though there was an agelessness about her manner. She carried herself with an air of elegance and aristocracy. Cindy looked every inch the princess – her gracious demeanor commanded the attention of the entire table.

I swallowed a lump of squash with an embarrassed cough. It served only to remind Daddy of my poor progress with my meal. As the maid reached for my plate, Daddy grabbed the woman’s wrist. The plate and silverware hit the table with a loud clatter.

He growled, No! She’s not finished yet. Leave it. She needs to finish her dinner.

I felt the blood drain from me, and I froze in the seat. I couldn’t move to wipe the tears. I was vaguely aware of the bitter cold at my core. I felt so much I could feel nothing. It was better that way.

Mrs. Bainbridge interceded. There’s plenty of time, dear.

It seemed I sat there for an eternity. Slowly, deliberately I forced the food into my mouth as the others again fell into conversation, and shared their scrumptious desserts.

Daddy sternly monitored my progress, wagging his finger at me, uttering threats. He was satisfied only when the plate was completely clean. I felt ill.

Why had I been so excited about the holidays this year? Why would this Christmas be different from any other? It would always be the same. There was no hope. The table and its dinner guests blurred into a watercolor haze.

I fantasized my death, as I had often done before. I could see the white light, a vibrant silver white melting into pastels. Heaven would be a beautiful, peaceful, comforting place. Then my parents would be sorry. At last they would see the error of their ways.

***

Debbie? I felt Cindy’s hand on my shoulder.

Honey, let’s go sit by the tree for a while. Cindy’s voice was always such a pleasure, and it stirred me from my daze.

As she helped me up, I noticed Glori still chatting at the table. I wondered why Cindy would invite just me. Glori was always entertaining, and I was pretty sure Glori was really Cindy’s best friend. How could I ever compete with Glori Coulson, the most popular girl in Beverly Hills?

The thought triggered another tumult of negativity racing through my brain, quaking my body. I worried Glori would be angry if Cindy didn’t include her. It took all my energy to walk into the parlor.

We settled into the overstuffed love seat by another tree.

I want to tell you again how much I love that painting you did for me. And I know you put a lot of time and effort into it. It will go perfectly in my room. All my favorite colors—it’s just beautiful!

Thank you. I – I’m glad you like it. I wiped my sweaty hands on my dress.

Cindy reached over and pointed to the tree. Remember these? These are all the ornaments you made for us over the years. Look. Remember you took some old pictures of everyone and put them in cookie dough frames? And look how you painted the frames. The colors are still bright.

She went to the tree to retrieve one of the ornaments. Look. Remember you had a crush on Doug? And you’ve got his picture framed in a heart shape. Cindy examined a child’s red scrawl. It says ‘I love Douggy.’ Ha! That’s great. You were such a fantastic artist, even when you were tiny. And look, here’s one you did for me. Remember I asked you to do a Christmas unicorn? It’s the cutest green unicorn I’ve ever seen! She reached over to hug me.

I took an ornament from the tree. Well… I remember this one. I fingered an ornate dough frame colored pink, decorated with dainty sculpted poinsettias, and lettered in holiday red and gold. I held it up so Cindy could see. Two beaming girls looked out from the picture, arm in arm.

Cindy took my hand. You’re the best, Debbie. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently. Do you hear me? Her voice was thick with emotion, and she cleared her throat.

I looked down, unable to speak. That little voice deep inside told me Cindy was surely mistaken.

***

Though dinner was over, the older generation remained around the table discussing business and current events. Children ran to play with new toys; their parents besieged with requests for assembling them.

Glori sauntered into the parlor. I couldn’t help staring. A swimsuit model, Glori Coulson had a thin curvaceous body, the envy of all her Hollywood friends. She always boasted her full breasts were untouched by any surgeon. Long sandy hair sparkled with blonde highlights, falling in waves over her shoulders. Perfectly applied makeup accentuated her eyes, a rare shade of blue green.

Glori acknowledged me with a brief look as she plopped onto the opulent cushions of the couch and removed black strappy spike heels. Her feet were impeccably pedicured. She frowned at the tree. Glad I missed this whole decorating thing you did this year. Looks like it’s gonna take till next Christmas to put everything away.

Cindy’s lilting laughter always made me smile. Don’t worry Glori – you won’t have to do anything. I’m used to your attitude by now. She winked at me.

Glori yawned. Well, I thought I’d try getting more in the spirit this year. After all, it’s been almost ten years since your parents took me in. I told my therapist I should be over my traumatic childhood by now. She grabbed the remote to turn on the television.

Cindy rushed to take it from her. Glori! Let’s not put that noise on. Why don’t we put on some Christmas music?

Glori wrinkled her nose. "I can’t take too much of that Silent Night stuff. Let’s save it for next Christmas, okay?"

Glori picked herself up from the sofa, tugged her tight black mini-dress down over her hips, and ambled over to the tree. I silently admired her – confident and glamorous. I looked down at the voluminous pink dress that billowed modestly to my mid-calf. Mama had picked it out for me. I could feel myself withdrawing again into my own little world.

Cindy sat beside me and handed me a business card she took from the end table. I looked down at it, but my vision was blurry. I re-focused on Cindy’s face, trying to blink away fogginess. I was so nauseous from dinner, I couldn’t think straight.

Debbie, you know Mom was bidding against five or six people who were determined to have your heart ornaments. They sold for more than any other item in the auction. And there were some well-known artists represented there. She tugged at my sleeve to make sure she had my attention, and I blinked at her.

Cool, I heard Glori say.

Debbie, this business card is from the owner of Hill’s Gallery. He wants to do business with you, honey. You know as well as I do, this is big.

Wow, I heard Glori say.

Cindy was almost face to face with me. Honey, are you okay?

Maybe this medical illustration thing could work out. Maybe I could make money with my art. Maybe I could stand on my own two feet for a change.

I gasped. Oh, yes, Cindy. It is big. It is. This could be my ticket out of Beverly Hills. The nausea was getting worse.

Out of Beverly Hills? Cindy’s face went from concern to distress.

I thought I was going to vomit, so I pushed myself up and out of the seat. I made it to the grand tree in the foyer. My legs gave out, and I grabbed a heart off the tree as I collapsed to the floor. I noticed it was the ornament with the myocardial infarction. My thumb fit perfectly into the ventricle that blew out.

I could see through a watercolor haze – Cindy was on her knees beside me crying and clutching my hand. Mama was wailing, and Daddy was yelling instructions. I didn’t know why they were upset. No more pain, no more nausea. I felt so free all of a sudden. Giggling, I rose up in a whirl around the Christmas tree and looked down on everyone in the foyer.

The watercolor haze gave way to silver white light, and I was transported to the most peaceful and beautiful place I’d ever seen. There were flowers everywhere and indescribable colors and scents. Light with a brilliance beyond words glowed on everything and everyone.

Grammy was there to greet me. She didn’t look old, but I knew it was her. Her smile was as warm and loving as ever. I rushed into her arms. I can’t wait to paint this place, Grammy.

Not here. Not now, my dear. You’ve got some important work to do yet. There are souls at stake. You’ve got to go back. Cat the Prayer Warrior will help you.

A cat?

But Grammy only said, "Remember, nothing can separate you from the love of God."

Chapter Two

Nita

Early on Christmas morning I tapped on Cat’s bedroom door. There was no answer, so I gently opened it and peered into an empty room. The light of the moon on snowy trees glimmered through the large windows, providing a halo of light over Cat’s desk, her overturned chair, and scattered papers. I turned on the light, and went to right the chair.

I noticed the arm had pierced a paper with lyrics to a song I’d yet to hear. Forgiven was the title at the top of the battered page. Forgiven.

I could forgive Eduardo, if only he’d live and come back to me. I’d loved him as long as I could remember. And I resented him for putting me through interminable, daily fear.

I picked up the papers and returned them to the desk, then switched off the light. There was something in the miraculous moonlight outside that drew me to the window. The light shone over Alpine mountaintops in the distance. A new blanket of snow had fallen during the night, and I could see tracks heading off into the hills.

I went back to my room to dress, then followed the tantalizing smell of cinnamon down the back stairs to the kitchen. Cat’s Aunt Maria was preparing her usual Christmas breakfast feast. The only thing out of the ordinary was her small computer tucked amongst the baking supplies on the counter.

Auntie?

There’s no message, dear. She wiped her hands on a towel and gave me a hug. Did you get any sleep?

Some. But it looks like you never went to bed.

No. It would have been pointless. She pushed the swinging door from the kitchen to the sitting room, and we both saw Uncle Frederick asleep on the couch, his laptop flashing on the coffee table. He hasn’t said anything, but I know he’s almost at the breaking point.

I pulled her back into the kitchen and into my arms. A few stoic breaths came out of her, and she was composed again. Did you check on Cat?

It looks like she went out for a hike with the dogs. I’m going after her. Some fresh air will do me good. I headed to the mudroom to put on my parka and locate my snowshoes.

There’s a thermos with coffee and some warm nut breads. Auntie handed me the backpack, and I was off into the chill of Christmas morning.

I followed the tracks taking in the crisp air and marvelous light that guided me through a winter wonderland. Stille Nacht echoed in my head, more grand than the choir at Midnight Mass. I sang along, then fell into contemplation.

Christmas had been forever marred for the entire extended family nineteen years ago when a plane crashed in the foothills of the Alps. It was certainly the worst time of our lives. And this holiday was one to rival it.

Our hell began in earnest three years ago after my fiancé Eduardo, and Cat’s cousin David – his best friend – were recruited by an agency so secret it did not even have a name. At least that’s what we were told. They were off supposedly making the world a better place, and that was the important thing. That’s what we tried to convince ourselves.

At first we were able to see them from time to time. But after an initial training period, evidently they went so deep undercover they assumed new identities, new lives, leaving their past completely behind. I suppose it was their idea of adventure. It was our families’ idea of a nightmare.

For the past three years I had received a holiday audio message from Eduardo. His family also received an audio they would share. And Cat’s cousin, David, would record one for his family.

All of us would gather together on December 15th, the day they would arrive. We listened to them repeatedly, and spent hours dissecting their content and meanings, always coming away with an aching longing for their return, but a sense that they were okay.

This year David’s audio never came. Eduardo’s had arrived on the morning of December 20th – the anniversary of that horrible plane crash. He sounded tired, stressed, and humorless. Not the man I knew.

If anyone would know what was going on, it would be Cat. Her near death experience in that disaster at age five left her with unshakable faith in God and amazing powers of prophecy and discernment.

Unable to explain our saintly friend, Eduardo had long ago dubbed Cat, Cat the Prayer Warrior, with a sarcastic laugh. Her prayers grew more powerful through the years, and she would astound the family with her gift of prophecy. But as Eduardo and David headed off to the unknown, I increasingly believed Cat was engaged in a supernatural battle of good and evil. Today I wondered if evil was winning.

Eduardo was in trouble. He had to be in deep trouble. Was David alive or dead? Did Eduardo know?

My head started to pound. Cat had been silent these last ten days. That did not bode well. I knew she was in almost constant prayer, but what—if any—answers she got, she kept to herself.

As Schatzi, the Bernese Mountain Dog, raced down the hill at me, I realized Cat was in our usual place—the camp we’d made as kids. Schatzi tagged me with her nose, whirled around in the snow, and tore back up to Cat.

I wasn’t surprised to find her prostrate in prayer, a tiny form in the snow guarded by her elegant Samoyed. Schatzi did her best to distract him, but Cat’s devoted companion ignored her frenzy and remained at his post. A pitiful fire smoldered a short distance away, and her snowshoes were set in the snow nearby—a strange scene in the dawn of Christmas day.

Cat’s prayer was critical now, more than ever. But I couldn’t let her freeze in the