Dissident (Bellator Saga, #1)

By Cecilia London

“I will always be with you...”

Rising Democratic star Caroline Gerard hasn’t had an easy year. After losing her husband, she is raising two small children alone while trying to navigate the tricky and sometimes shallow halls on Capitol Hill. A string of nasty speeches has her scrambling to apologize to any number of candidates, including newly elected Republican Jack McIntyre. Falling in love again is the last thing on her mind.

Jack McIntyre might have a reputation as a playboy, but he has his sights set solely on his new colleague. Can he break through Caroline’s grief and capture her heart?

Told mostly in flashback and set against a chilling fascist backdrop, Dissident is a rollercoaster ride of political intrigue, passionate contemporary romance, and undying love.

For readers 18+. Ends in a cliffhanger.

"I highly recommend Dissident to any reader that loves a fast-paced, intriguing work of fiction with a hefty dose of sexiness and steam, a reader who enjoys thrills and political intrigue, or anyone just looking for a highly engaging and fun read." - Readers' Favorite (2015 Silver Medal Winner for Fiction-Dystopia)
"London breaks new ground in Dissident, deftly intertwining the over-the-top, naughty sensuality of the best contemporary romance novels with the nail-biting excitement of more traditional political thrillers. Loved it!" - Author Lila Monroe
"With equal parts political thriller and captivating romance, Cecilia London has crafted a novel that's hard to put down and kept me wanting more! I'm looking forward to the next book in the series!" - Author Melissa Brown

"Every character, every exchange, the way the story is written...I loved it all! Smart, suspenseful, sexy, and exquisitely written, I dare you not to fall in love with Dissident!" - Irene, The Literary Gossip
"London has one powerful and chaotic series breaking out of the gates at full speed! At no point could I see where this would end up and I must say, the ride to the finish and balancing on the edge of this cliff hanger is well worth the ticket to ride!" - TomeTender
"I highly recommend this series. It's so well written with witty, sexy and smart characters and dialogue, and a plot that will leave you guessing and wanting more." - Suzanne, Tied Up In Romance
"Cecilia London blew me away...If you like serials with a different flare to them - some thriller, some politics, a lot of romance - Dissident is definitely the book to get you hooked on a new series!" - TeriLyn Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cecilia London
• Release date: Mar 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310420894

Cecilia London

Cecilia London is the pen name of a native Illinoisan currently living in San Antonio, Texas. She’s filled several roles over the course of her adult life – licensed attorney, wrangler of small children, and obsessed baseball fan, among others. An extroverted introvert with a serious social media addiction, she is the author of The Bellator Saga, an epic, genre-crossing romance series. You can catch all of her quirky updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, or at her website.

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Dissident

Bellator Saga, #1

Cecilia London

© 2015, Cecilia London

[e-mail]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, with the exception of excerpts for reviews and blog postings.

Table of Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

End of Part One

For he commands his angels with regard to you

To guard you wherever you go.

Psalms 91:11 (New American Bible, Revised Edition)

Prologue

They had been dragging themselves through the woods for hours, with him holding the flashlight and leading the way, and her faltering through the ice and snow trying to keep his pace. They moved slowly, their injuries hindering their flight. The forest was thick and foreboding and the biting winter wind whistled through the branches in the trees, cutting them to the core. They listened for the sound of flowing water in the hope that the Allegheny River was no longer frozen over and they could follow it up to New York.

They knew their odds were long but held out faith that despite the blustering wind and bitter cold, they could somehow find a way to Buffalo. The Canadian border. Their last, best chance at safety.

The flashlight began to flicker and the man knew that the batteries would only last them so much longer. It had been snowing earlier in the night, but the clouds had been carried away by the wind and the flashlight was supplemented by the glow of the winter moon. He turned the flashlight off and his wife tumbled into him.

"Jack, why did you do that?" It was hard for her to stay upright without her momentum to keep her going, and even harder to follow him without the artificial light.

"The flashlight’s getting low and the moon is relatively bright. We should conserve the batteries. Do you need to rest?" he asked, knowing the answer was yes.

"No, she lied. Let’s keep going."

He put the flashlight in his coat pocket, feeling it bump up against the gun he had concealed there. He put his arm around her waist and hoisted her up.

"Let’s go," he said, as he kept his arm around her to steady her as she walked.

Their pace continued to slow until they were hardly moving at all. He could see her grimacing with every step, could hear her labored breathing, and he knew that she was much more seriously injured than she was letting on. Although he himself was in pain he did his best to keep them both going. His ankle was sprained and the weight of two people upon it was almost too much for him to bear. But they couldn’t stop.

He saw a clearing up ahead and knew they were nearing a road. But that wasn’t what they wanted. Roads meant people and people meant danger. Almost no one could be trusted. The soldiers who had run their car off the road were biding their time, waiting, until the moment was right to come after them again.

The two of them weren’t about to make themselves easy prey by following a path trod by others. Their footsteps were not hard to trace because of the snow, but it was better than being out in the open. No, the river was their best bet, their least dangerous path north.

He turned sharply and started to steer them both away from the road, as close to a westerly direction as he could manage. He was a suburban Philly boy and could only depend on his poor instincts to guide him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"We need to find the river, Caroline. There’s a road up ahead and we have to avoid it."

The woods grew hilly and she began to struggle. He was practically carrying her as they made their way up an incline and he knew he wouldn’t be able to support her much longer. Suddenly she broke free of him and lurched into a nearby tree, sinking to the ground.

She pulled off her earmuffs and loosened her scarf with difficulty, her back to the tree. He could tell she was in tremendous pain and knelt down in the snow beside her.

"Sweetheart, we have to keep going," he said.

Her face was windswept and her eyes were red. She was sweating in spite of the cold and he could practically hear her heart beating out of her chest.

"Jack, I can’t do this. I’m too tired. I can’t breathe."

"Yes, you can. We can keep going. I’ll help."

"You can’t help. You can barely walk while you’re lugging me along." She began to cry.

He wiped away some of her tears with his gloved hand. We’ll stop for a minute, all right? Then we’ll start again.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. The tears coursed silently down her face. He let her rest, hoping that she would then tell him they could move on even though they really had no time to waste. She opened her eyes a few moments later and looked at him. His breath caught in his throat. Her brown eyes, which had once been so warm, confident, and loving, were now laced with a fear he’d never seen before.

"You have to go, she said. Now."

"We have to go," he corrected her.

"No. You."

"No. He looked at her incredulously. We."

"You have to go, Jack. It’s the only way."

His mind started racing. He couldn’t wrap his head around what she was suggesting.

"No. I’m not leaving you here."

She closed her eyes again. The wetness on her face was beginning to freeze in place. Her voice broke.

"Tell my girls how much I love them. She stifled a sob. Tell them I’m sorry."

Her children. Their children. Who were hopefully already in Canada.

"This is absurd, Caroline. I’m not leaving you here alone. Are you insane? We’re wasting time."

"You can move ten times faster without me. You know I’m right."

Hot, angry tears pricked his eyes. I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. There has to be another way.

"This is the only way and you know it. She took her left glove off and traced his lips with her bare fingers. My darling. My Monty. I love you so."

He kissed her fingers and wrapped them in his, trying to warm them. I’m not leaving you, he repeated.

Her voice was weak, but firm. This is bigger than us. You have to go. Get to Canada. Share that information. Stop Santos. Don’t let all our sacrifices be for nothing.

"I love you. He took off his gloves and began to caress her face with his bare hands. I’m not leaving you."

"Listen to me. You are going to go. You are going to get to Canada. You are going to get this flash drive to people who can do something with it. Please, Jack. Please do this for me."

He was adamant. I am not leaving you here!

"You are. You need to go. They will find us soon and they’ll find us even sooner if we’re moving together. She tried to straighten up, using the tree for support. If you don’t leave, I swear to God I will never forgive you. I mean it. There is no point in both of us getting captured or worse. Please. Do this for me."

He kissed her forehead, still cradling her face in his hands, and the tears in his eyes spilled over. Don’t make me do this. I can’t. I won’t leave you.

"Go, she whispered. Go before they catch up with us."

She removed the glove from her right hand and began to slip her wedding rings off her left ring finger. Her large diamond and sapphire engagement ring glistened in the moonlight. She’d thought it was gaudy when he’d first given it to her, and the media had loved speculating about how much it must have cost. But she’d grown accustomed to it. Aside from its sentimental value, it was now almost worthless in the fragile American economy.

She fumbled through the simple task, her hands numbed by the cold. She placed the rings in Jack’s hand and wiped the tears from his face. He searched her eyes for an explanation.

"They’re no good to me out here, she said. Take them. They belong to you. I don’t want those bastards to have them." She closed her eyes and began to nod off.

Jack grabbed her chin, desperate to keep her awake. Stay with me, Caroline. We can do this.

"Go now. Her voice was fading. Be safe. Be strong."

Jack brought his lips to hers and kissed her hard, wanting it to last, wanting to breathe life into her, to give her the strength to keep going. He gripped her rings tightly in his fist. The prongs from the engagement ring were prodding into his ice cold palm, but he was oblivious to the pain they caused. He didn’t want to break the connection between them. Caroline brought her hands up to his stocking cap, drew it off, and ran her fingers through his hair. He pulled back, his lips close to hers.

They heard a rustling in the distance and Jack turned his head, not sure of what he would find. He half hoped that a deer would come gliding through the trees but he knew that would be too good to be true. Their luck had run out too many times. Caroline squeezed his hand, the one with the rings in it.

"Go, Jack. They’re coming. Go."

He pressed his lips to hers again, a long, frantic kiss. She pushed him away and reached into her coat pocket, pulling out her Glock and an extra magazine. Take these. You might need them.

Jack dropped the rings into one of the interior pockets of his coat, and heard them clink against the box containing the flash drive he was hiding. He put the gun and magazine in his outer coat pocket and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She very clumsily put his stocking cap back on his head and stroked his face, wiping away the wetness there.

"I will always be with you," she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her.

He took in a sharp, painful breath and put his gloves back on. The night air was freezing. I will come back for you, Caroline. Understand? I promise I will come back. I’m not giving up. I will find someone we can trust and I will come back.

She smiled and closed her eyes.

He heard the rustling getting closer. There was almost no way that noise was an animal. And he knew he had only one choice.

He ran.

Chapter One

The young officer was nervous. His troops had behaved poorly and now he had to provide answers to the chain of command. He strode into a hospital conference room, where two doctors in white coats were sitting at a long table.

Lieutenant Christopher Mitchell, Army Intelligence and Security Command, he said, taking a chair opposite them.

Both doctors nodded in his direction. They didn’t seem all that enthusiastic to see him.

Can you give me an idea of the prisoner’s condition? he inquired.

The older gentleman spoke first. Dr. William Livingston, lead medical officer. Concussion, numerous contusions, some cuts, broken nose, fractured cheekbones. Probably some cracked or fractured ribs. A minor bullet wound that appeared to be a couple of days old. He paused. To use the jargon I’m sure you and your troops are most familiar with, they beat the shit out of her. It’s incredible she didn’t suffer a traumatic brain injury or some other significant, permanent damage. If they’d done much more they probably would have killed her.

Mitchell grimaced. He’d been afraid of that. He was going to catch it for splitting up his men but he sincerely believed he could trust the sergeant leading the small cadre of soldiers that had captured her. But these men, these new recruits, they were unlike anything he’d seen before. The standards for enlisting in the armed forces had declined over the last year or so, and now the government seemed intent on recruiting the most violent, sociopathic combatants possible. It made giving orders and expecting them to be followed extremely difficult. He was barely out of ROTC and he already felt as if he’d made a huge mistake in not resigning his commission and repaying the government for the cost of his bachelor’s degree.

But that would have marked him. And no one wanted that.

What’s her prognosis? he asked.

We have her heavily sedated while she heals. Her brain activity is strong. We do not believe there will be any permanent neurological damage, but we can’t say anything for certain. The older man paused again. We intend to provide her with the highest level of care, no matter what your superior officers say. Right now that means keeping her sedated and comfortable until she recovers a little.

Mitchell didn’t realize that someone else had given the doctors instructions with regard to how to treat the patients in their hospital. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. But nothing was the way it was supposed to be anymore.

The government is eager to transfer her to a holding facility, he said.

The female doctor spoke up. Dr. Maureen Savage, internal medicine. That will have to wait. She’s in no condition to be moved. It will be a few days, if not longer.

She is wanted for questioning.

Savage looked at him as if he was boring her. We understand that. But the human body heals on its own timeline. If you want anything useful from her, you’ll have to wait. She’ll be sedated and allowed to rest for at least the next few days. If her condition changes, you’ll be the first to know. She glared at him. If you really wanted her in the best shape for interrogation, perhaps you should have given your soldiers clearer instructions on how to properly arrest rather than seriously injure.

Mitchell let that comment slide. He had no good response for her. She was right. He stood up and walked toward the door. The doctors were stonewalling him. He couldn’t blame them; they’d entered government work because they actually believed that they were doing something for the greater good. And now they, like him, were starting to question everything that meant. But they very well couldn’t leave and they all knew it.

Please let me know if anything changes. Mitchell turned to face them as he crossed the room. It seemed almost rude for him to care about her wellbeing. But he did. That was probably because once he transferred her to the federal holding facility, she was no longer his problem. He wouldn’t even have to think about what they’d do to her once she arrived.

He’d heard stories, but nothing concrete. And he was still too low on the food chain to be privy to any major state secrets. But he knew what happened to people who were sent there. They went in, and they didn’t come out.

Is she cognizant of anything that’s going on? he asked.

Probably not, Savage said. That’s why we gave her the drugs. If you want her to recover well enough for you to be able to speak with her, you’re going to want her unaware of her surroundings for now.

Thank you, Mitchell said, and walked out the door.

* * * * *

Savage turned to Livingston after Mitchell had left. I thought we doped her up pretty well. I’d prefer she be in a nice little state of dreamland for the time being. She doesn’t know what’s going on, does she?

Livingston rubbed his temples. I find that highly unlikely. We probably gave her more than we should. I thought-

He stopped and looked around, listening, making sure they were still the only two people in the area. I thought it was best for her. I can’t even imagine what they have in store for her once she’s well enough to be transferred.

Dr. Savage turned to the wall, hugging herself. What the hell is going on in this country right now, Bill? California has seceded. Congress is a shambles. Who knows what’s going to happen to us. And I never would have thought that the American military would treat a former-

Bill heard footsteps coming down the hall and put his finger to his lips, shaking his head. Maureen nodded back at him.

It’s probably time to get back to work, she said loudly.

Indeed, Dr. Livingston agreed. He lowered his voice. Make sure she’s safe, Maureen. We have so little control over anything anymore, and neither does she. We may as well protect her for as long as we can. Let’s give her that.

Chapter Two

Caroline

More than five years earlier, New Year’s Eve

I can’t believe I have to wear this terrible piece of clothing, Caroline said, pulling up the sleeves on a sweater that was three sizes too big for her.

Tom Sullivan looked pleased with himself. You make fun of the sweater, you wear the sweater the next year. You know the rule.

I didn’t make fun of it last year.

‘That thing looks like Picasso vomited on a Monet then sewed a bunch of random Jo-Ann Fabric patterns on it,’ he quoted.

That wasn’t a joke. It was the truth, she groused.

Tom laughed. Chrissy loves it as much as you do.

Caroline’s daughter Marguerite came bounding into the room, grabbing a handful of Cheetos from one of the bowls on the snack table. Wow, mom. That sweater sucks.

The blunt wisdom of a far too mature ten year old who spent way too much time repeating her mother’s colorful language. Thanks, Mo. Where’s Sophie?

Marguerite shoved the Cheetos into her mouth. I don’t know. Jess said she was going to make her a whiskey sour.

Jess was kidding.

So you say.

So I know. Caroline looked at her watch. It’s almost time for you two to go to bed.

Marguerite’s face fell. Just a little bit longer? Please?

It had been hard not to indulge them during the past year, and Caroline’s resolve broke easily. Eleven. That’s it.

No midnight?

No midnight. Pretend you live in Nova Scotia and it’s already the New Year by then. Go hang out with your sister for a while.

Okay. Marguerite skipped away.

Tom, who had witnessed the exchange, grinned. It’s those moments that make you hope she’s not going to go to law school, right? She barely pushed that one at all.

Caroline laughed. Her loyalty to Notre Dame Law School was one of the reasons Tom liked her so much.

Between the two of us and our disturbing passion for Our Lady’s university, it might be damn near impossible to keep her away from South Bend. She looked over his shoulder and saw a late arrival she hadn’t noticed before. You invited Bob?

Tom kept grinning. What with Christine considering moving up to the Senate next term, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to have the Speaker of the House here.

An interesting choice. Christine Sullivan and Robert Allen didn’t exactly get along all the time. Caroline barely contained her surprise. Breaking her own ‘no Washington people, except for Caroline and her family’ rule?

Apparently so.

That woman will do anything for an endorsement.

Would you endorse her?

If she wants me to. You know how much I love bridging the partisan divide. She looked down at her now-empty glass. Do you think John McIntyre will show up?

Tom’s grin disappeared as he took the glass from her. I have no idea. Chrissy only met him once during the election and I’m not sure he was very enamored with her. But maybe. The smile returned. I know you wanted him to come.

Well, it’s not that I want him to come, I just…. She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted anymore.

Caroline had suffered through a pretty terrible year and was eager for it to be over. She had first been elected to Congress four years prior, riding a wave of anti-incumbent fervor that many people hoped would invigorate the country and get people more engaged in the process. Which, peculiarly enough, the pundits seemed to say every two years. She ran as a moderate to liberal Democrat in a solidly blue district in the Maryland suburbs outside the District of Columbia, and voters responded to her earnest style and quirky sense of humor.

She was a decent looking woman in her mid-thirties with brown eyes, auburn hair, and a relatively okay figure that required constant exercise because of two pregnancies and her weakness for all sorts of yummy foods (particularly deep dish pizza and chocolate). But her personality and charm coupled with her professional background made her an appealing upstart candidate. Her husband Nick hadn’t been all that thrilled about her blossoming political career, but she’d dedicated her life to public service and he knew that one day she’d want to make the leap.

Her first three years in office solidified her as a reasonable politician who could be counted on to reflect the common sense of the people of her district, if not the rest of the country. She didn’t take radical positions, listened to the other side, introduced bipartisan legislation, formed coalitions, and never disrespected her colleagues. That was probably why she’d collected a small but diverse group of friends in the House from both parties, including Tom’s wife Christine, a woman most would describe as a tough but open-minded Catholic conservative.

Tom and Caroline hit it off at a House Freshman mixer after she noticed the Notre Dame Monogram Club pin he’d been wearing. He’d played linebacker for the Irish then gone on to medical school at UPenn where he met Christine. Caroline always joked that he was the best man she knew aside from Nicky because he’d overcome the odds and put his feelings aside to marry a Wolverine who bled maize and blue.

Tom and Nicky connected over their love of beer and other random rural Midwestern