The Unforgotten

By Angie D. Hayes

Reclusive Shea Willow has never been able to forget Ian McDowell. One evening spent with the handsome Irishman while on a European tour in college sparked a deep connection that she was unable to forget even when he vanished without a trace.

A decade later, Shea, now a successful novelist, travels to Germany to research her new book and is confronted at the airport by the ghost from her past. The moment she sees Ian, the bitterness and resentment she struggled for years to overcome resurface. But, she is forced to set aside those feelings because Ian is in trouble and he needs her help.

As a member of Britains MI6, Ian has infiltrated the counterfeit ring responsible for his brothers death. But, things have turned sour, and now Ian is on the run. The agency thinks hes gone rogue, and the ruthless leader of the organization wants him dead. Shea is the only one he can trust.

Putting aside the past, the two plunge into a dangerous world of espionage and violence. But as their quest takes a deadly turn, the lines of love and justice begin to blur.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Dec 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462404681

Angie D. Hayes

Angie D. Hayes’ novel The Unforgotten won First Place in the Inspiring Voices Book Publishing Contest. She holds a BA from Newman University. She resides in Denton, Texas with her husband and two children. Visit her website at www.angiedhayes.com

Book preview

Chapter One

Ten Years Ago

A shoe fell from the sky. Seconds later another one joined it, landing on the ground next to the bench where he sat. Isn’t it manna that’s supposed to fall from heaven? Ian peered in the direction of the shoes’ origin just as a sea of sparkly purple fabric catapulted from the second-floor window to the ground beside him, the jumper landing deftly on her feet. Dark curly hair framed a pale-skinned face. The dim moonlight illuminated steely blue eyes. The girl regarded him evenly as she retrieved her shoes.

Ya know, even these old buildings have doors, he offered, his Irish brogue echoing off the stones of the university theater building.

If only I’d known a few moments earlier you could have saved me from the harrowing ten foot drop, Captain Obvious, she said, her deep American voice velvety smooth in the shadows.

Amused by her comment, Ian raised his brow at the obvious challenge. Once her shoes were fastened, she brushed the dark curls from her face and walked away leaving Ian gawking at the sassy American as she disappeared from view.

Shea hurried back to the dormitory she currently called home. Much like the other dormitories she’d visited over the last several weeks, it was simply a stop in the endless tour of concerts she signed on to participate in when she joined the madrigal group. It had been the opportunity of a lifetime - forty-five European cities in fifteen weeks. Not bad for a girl who had never left the United States.

She unlocked the door to her room and hurried inside, anxious to get out of the gown. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The deep eggplant colored dress was illuminated by a subtle sparkle woven through the fabric. Its spaghetti straps and plunging V-neck weren’t the best choice for some of the more petite girls in the group, but the dress fit her remarkably well thanks in part to her height, nearly five foot eight. She unzipped the gown and let it drop to the floor before unbuckling the strappy black heels and tossing them in the general direction of the closet. Shea wrestled the sea of satin onto a hanger. She pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt and grabbed a book on the way to her bunk. Safely tucked under the covers, she began to read, relaxing as the story captivated her full attention. She was grateful for the reprieve from the chaos and drama that seemed to follow the twentysomethings in the singing group everywhere they went.

The temporary reprieve was shattered the moment her roommate stepped through the door. I’m shocked to find you here, she said sarcastically.

Shea rolled her eyes. We can’t all have an endless entourage of men following us wherever we go, she told Rebecca, a blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty.

And where exactly are they supposed to follow you, Shea? To the dormitory? Rebecca slipped out of her dress and pulled on a too-tight pair of jeans over her enviable figure.

Shea shrugged. I like the ones who can actually spell their own name.

Rebecca pulled on a fitted T-shirt and turned to face Shea. And how exactly do you glean that information? Do you ask them between insults?

Shea focused on her book again. I like men who can handle the truth.

"Thick skin is what your man is gonna need if you ever get your nose out of a book long enough to find one who can tame that tongue of yours, she said, pulling on her shoes. Erica and I are going to the lobby to play cards with some of the tenors. Come with us."

Pass.

Shocker, Rebecca said, moving toward the door. See ya.

Shea welcomed the slamming of the door and returned her focus to where she really wanted to be, alone in her own little world.

Shea slept in the following morning, eventually joining Rebecca and Erica as they made their way to the cafeteria for lunch.

Hold my key, Rebecca insisted, handing it to Shea.

You know, you could actually buy your pants in a size that would allow you to put your hand in your pocket. Then, you could carry your own key.

Erica grinned at Shea. She enjoyed Shea’s bluntness, found it refreshingly honest. From the look on Rebecca’s face, she wasn’t as thrilled. Shea took the key, stuffed it into her pocket, and grabbed the cafeteria door Rebecca neglected to hold open for her. She retrieved a tray and selected a salad and a mystery meat sandwich as she progressed through the line. Nearing the end, she realized she’d neglected to pick up a packet of dressing. She glanced back toward the salad, finding several athletic types hovering in the vicinity. Hey Red, Shea called to the redhead looming over the dressing. When he glanced her way, she realized it was the man who’d observed her harrowing escape the previous evening. Mind tossing one of those my way?

Not at tall, the Irishman said, tossing a packet of dressing in her direction. One of his friends laughed at the nickname, earning him a swift elbow in the stomach.

Thanks, she said, turning back towards her wide-eyed, dismayed friends. What? she asked innocently.

Shea, that was rude, Rebecca said.

Why? It’s not like he’s never been called Red before.

Rebecca shook her head in exasperation as she filled her glass with ice.

You coming shopping with us? Erica asked.

Nah, Shea responded.

Another shocker there, Rebecca noted, making her way to one of the remaining empty tables.

Shea surveyed the sea of faces and decided their group must be sharing the campus with at least half a dozen athletic teams. Apparently, the music festival isn’t the only event the university hosts during the summer, she thought, trying to avoid being knocked about by the crowd on the way to a table.

After lunch, Shea’s friends abandoned her to go shopping, promising to heed the reminder from their group leader that they needed to be back by six-thirty, ready to rehearse. Shea tossed an apple, a granola bar and a couple bottles of water into her backpack and made her way toward the exit, fully intending to disappear for the rest of the day. She let several rowdy soccer players pass on their way back through the line for seconds, or thirds. The redhead smiled at her as he walked past. She raised an eyebrow as she maneuvered her way by the group and out the double doors.

She went in search of a quiet place to read on the expansive campus. She found a bench overlooking the river that twisted through the grounds. Satisfied she would be alone, Shea dropped her backpack to the ground and sat down. She stripped off the pink sweatshirt she wore over her white T-shirt, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. Ready to relax, Shea pulled out her book. Lost in the story for several chapters, she was interrupted from her reverie by the sound of laughter floating up from the water. Just over the crest of the hill, she could hear splashing and carrying on. The sound made her smile. A small, brick dock sat at the edge of the river, its dark depths flowing rapidly past the crumbling steps. Three men emerged from the water, soaked and shirtless.

Amused, Shea admired their muscular physique as they sought a respite from their river adventure. The only apparent place to do that was the bench she occupied. As the men neared, Shea recognized the redhead from earlier. He spotted her immediately and smirked, taking a seat remarkably close to her side. His buddy sank onto the bench next to him.

Watch it, lass, Red wailed. Keep your ten pounds of hair to yourself, he joked, knocking his friend’s dreads away from his arm. Red looked over at Shea, shaking his head.

Like you can talk with all of this, she said, indicating his ample amount of wiry hair brushing against her arm and leg.

Easy, now, he warned. Careful you don’t burn that snow-white skin, Casper.

Not bad, she said of his comeback, closing her book and tossing it into her backpack, not wanting to have to engage in idle small talk with anyone regardless of how incredible they looked without their shirt. She pulled out a bottle of water and slung the backpack over her shoulder, determined to find another place to read in solitude.

Got anything else in there? Red asked.

Like a razor? Or some deodorant, perhaps?

He chuckled. You got spirit, don’t ya?

She smiled over her shoulder before heading over the hill and down the riverbank.

Shea’s search for solitude was more daunting than she had imagined. People loomed in every nook and cranny. Where did all these people come from? she wondered. Finally, she stumbled upon what appeared to be a garden, its interior secured behind a padlocked ten-foot gate. The hedges within kept the interior from view making the garden too alluring for her to refuse. She glanced around for prying eyes, found none. She tossed her backpack over the fence and grabbed the gate, scaling it in less than ten seconds. She strolled around the garden and discovered a long forgotten fountain and lily pond. A thick layer of velvety green moss almost entirely obscured the view of the water. A bench sat off the path halfway hidden in the bushes. Perfection, Shea thought as she dropped onto the wooden slats and stretched out her legs. She pulled her book out of her backpack, placed the nearly empty pack under her head and folded her sweatshirt on top of it for a pillow. Shea continued reading the intriguing story, pleased to discover the heroine returned home safely by the last page. She closed the book and dropped it to her lap, gazing lazily at the sky filled with cotton ball clouds. She shut her eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun on her face, enjoying the peaceful bliss she usually encountered when she finished a book.

A distant rustling in the bushes snapped her back to reality. She listened intently for the sound, concerned she’d be caught trespassing. Unable to pinpoint where the noise was coming from, she stuffed her sweatshirt into her backpack and hurried to the fence. She tossed her pack over the gate and heaved herself to the top, quickly dropping to the ground on the other side. She grabbed her backpack and turned hurriedly in the direction of the dormitory nearly plowing into Red and his friends.

So, what’s inside? Red asked, nodding toward the gate, a huge grin on his freckled face.

A garden, she stated, more than a little annoyed she’d been caught.

That fence is ten feet high, Red said, glancing back at the gate. I’m impressed, he stated, grinning as his eyes roved the length of her body.

Relaxing slightly when she realized he wasn’t going to turn her in, she said, Well then, my work here is done.

Red laughed and stepped in front of her to block her retreat. You coming to the game tonight?

A tournament, she said, the mystery of the scores of athletes on campus solved.

It’s at 7:00.

Sorry, no can do. I’ve got some entertaining to do myself in the outdoor arena, she said, making another move to leave.

He stepped in front of her again. You’re here for the festival, are you?

She stopped abruptly to avoid running into him. Yeah, she said, exasperated.

What do you do? he asked, drawing out the conversation as long as possible as his friends began to climb the fence.

Well, if I told you it wouldn’t be a mystery, she said, sidestepping him, making it clear in no uncertain terms that she was leaving. She grinned as she glanced back over her shoulder, pleased by the intrigued expression on his face.

Chapter Two

Shea returned to her room, showered and changed into her eggplant gown. She worked tirelessly to contain her curly hair, twisting the front on both sides and securing the twists at her crown, leaving the back loose. She applied heavy makeup to avoid looking washed out in the spotlights. By the time she was finished, Rebecca appeared in the doorway in her jeans and T-shirt. I’m so surprised you’re running late, Shea said facetiously.

That’s what happens when you’re having fun with other people, Shea. You lose track of time, Rebecca explained, peeling off her clothes. You should try it sometime.

Immediately, an image of Red flashed into her mind. She smirked. Even though their encounters were inconsequential, she had to admit it had been fun toying with him.

Rebecca grinned. What was that?

What? Shea asked, zipping Rebecca’s gown for her.

I saw that little smile.

There was no smile, Shea promised.

Whatever. Please just tell me it’s a real person and not some fictional character you fancy a friend of yours.

Shea ignored her, offering her roommate a pair of shoes before collecting a key and heading out the door. Ten minutes later, Rebecca and Shea met the rest of the madrigal group to warm up. After running through a couple songs, they had a twenty minute break before they had to be in their seats at 7:50 sharp. Shea immediately abandoned Rebecca to her hoard of male followers and began the trek to the arena. When she got to the soccer fields, she strolled over to the fence, curious to see how the games were going. She scanned several games in play finally spotting some of the guys she’d seen with Red earlier that day. Leaning on the fence, she watched intently for several minutes fascinated by the skilled play. The team was good as far as she could tell. The game shifted towards the goal a few feet from where she stood. When a penalty was called, Red caught a glimpse of her, lifted his head and smiled. She bit her lip to hide the smile she couldn’t contain, completely surprised by the effect his attention had on her.

McDowell! the coach called.

No one responded. Shea wasn’t sure who he was talking to.

Ian! Red turned abruptly and hurried towards the coach.

Shea watched the game for a few more minutes before traipsing to the arena with her cohorts. She took a seat in their reserved section and the festival began. Talented musicians performed from universities all over the world, the music exquisite and enchanting. At nine-fifteen, her group took the stage and performed three pieces, the last of which contained a much coveted alto solo. Hers. Shea had developed the ability to shut out everything around her when she set her mind to it. When she sang, she had to. As she looked out upon the sea of unfamiliar faces, she had to transport herself to a quiet place of solitude in order to keep from having an anxiety attack. She hated crowds. But, she loved to sing. As long as she could pretend she was somewhere else entirely, she could manage. After the concert was over, things became much trickier. There was no telling what would happen. As she sang the last note, she visually scanned the arena for the exit, desperate for an escape route. When the applause died, the group filed off the platform into the wings. The back stairs seemed the surest way to avoid fans. Shea slipped through the maze of walls and practically plowed into Red.

Hey, he said, offering his hand to help her step down off the concrete platform into the grass two feet below.

Hi, she said, accepting his hand and dropping to the ground.

That was remarkable. Not many people can impress me twice in one day.

Shea was uncomfortable. She hated compliments. She never knew how to respond to them. She would much rather exchange witty retorts. Uh. Okay, she said, gazing back over her shoulder at the crowd.

Shea, someone wants to meet you, she heard her director call.

She ducked beside the concrete steps, squatting until she was fully hidden from view.

Ian watched her, amused. Shall I take it you don’t want to meet your fans? he whispered, kneeling beside her. She glared at him. I know an out of the way place you can stow away for a bit until the crowd breaks up, he offered, his Irish thick and intriguing.

Shea peeked over the concrete wall, dismayed to find that the crowd backstage had grown rather than diminished. She turned back to Red. At that moment, anywhere was better than here. Okay, she said, taking his proffered hand.

Shea followed Red around the back of the arena, through a wooded area to a nearly dilapidated gate. He shoved it open, eliciting a horrible shriek as its hinges protested. He moved through it quickly, pausing only a moment to let her pass before shutting the gate behind her. They ended up on an old soccer field that hadn’t seen use for at least a decade.

Nice.

Hidden away as promised.

He walked to a mound of bushes and stooped to retrieve a worn soccer ball, his deep red hair still damp from a shower she hoped.

I saw you at the game, he said, volleying the soccer ball on his knee. What’d ya think?

I don’t know much about soccer.

Football, he corrected.

"Futball," she said mimicking and exaggerating his accent.

That was horrible. What was that? That cereal leprechaun? Or a pirate? he scoffed. It’s a good thing you can sing.

Shea smiled. Ian tilted his head towards the field. I’ll teach you, he said.

"In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really dressed to play futball," she said, giving him a better impression.

Oh, I noticed. Shea blushed to the roots of her hair. He held his hands up in victory. I didn’t think she could be fazed, he said as he kicked the ball onto the field. He grabbed Shea’s hand and pulled her onto the grass. Her heels sank into the soft earth. Unbuckling the straps, she dropped her shoes on the stone path and followed Ian’s lead. He leaned close, put his arm around her shoulders and pointed to the goal. That is a goal, he said. You try and kick the ball in there.

Shea raised an eyebrow. I’d figured out that much. Ian removed his arm and picked up the ball. Looks easy, she added.

Oh, does it now? Ian asked. He tossed her the ball, giving her a mischievous smile. I guarantee you can’t get the ball past me.

Ever the feminist, Shea said, Oh. I see how it is. The little girl couldn’t possibly kick the ball past a strong man like you?

You’re right. You do see how it is, he said, baiting her.

Fine, she said, accepting his challenge. Shea lifted the fluffy material of her long skirt enough that she could get her foot out to kick the ball. She glanced at the goal knowing she didn’t really have a shot at getting the ball past a college athlete.

Or did she?

Making sure Ian was watching, she gathered the fabric of her skirt and inched it up slowly, exposing first her ankle, then her calf, captivating his full attention. As she pulled the material up to expose her knee, she kicked the ball hard toward the net feeling the intense pressure on her bare toes.

Ian dove for the ball a moment too late, laughing as he landed on the ground. He retrieved the ball from the net. So, ya play dirty?

Aye.

Horrible. That’s not even close to Irish, Ian said, shaking his head. That’s Captain Jack Sparrow.

Ian kicked the ball around the field, explaining the rules of the game to her. When she knew more than she cared to, he placed the ball in front of her.

Want to try that again? I won’t be fooled twice.

I’d better go. I was supposed to go to the festival dinner in the dining hall.

Ian made a gagging noise.

Is it that bad?

Worse. I’m not sure it’s even fit to be called food.

Well, it’s free, she said, giving him a half-hearted smile.

It’s out a little way, but there’s a place I know that has great food. And, they like football players, he offered.

Well, at least someone does, she mused.

And they do a much better impression than you do, Captain, he said, grabbing her shoes as he waltzed back to the gate.

Shea followed Ian to the south side of campus. It was more than a little way, a couple miles at least, but the taunting back and forth was fun. Shea rarely met someone that could take it as well as dish it out. The place he had referred to was little more than a moving food cart. He placed an order and waited, obviously pleased with himself when he glanced back at Shea. The woman inside affectionately patted his check before handing him several bags. Ian offered one to Shea. Inside she found an assortment of food that might as well have been from Pluto. Luckily, she had an iron stomach.

Ian pulled something out of one of his bags. You have to try this.

I don’t do mystery blobs, Shea said.

Come on, he said as he reached over and held it near her mouth.

Deciding to trust him, she opened her mouth. His finger gently brushed her lip. Their eyes locked for a moment before the taste of the mystery meat settled into the back of her throat. Her eyes began to water. Shea turned around and spat the meat onto the ground in a grand, ladylike gesture. That is completely disgusting!

It is, isn’t it? Ian mused as he laughed, unfazed by her lack of manners.

That’s just wrong, she said, slapping him on the arm as she meandered back in the general direction of the dormitories.

She sampled the rest of the things he had procured once she had his assurance that everything else was edible. He was right. What remained was quite tasty. They took their fare to an empty stadium and sat in the deserted bleachers.

Shea asked, So, how long have you played? surprising herself with the invitation for idle chit chat.

Since I was two.

Where are you attending school?

Spain. What about you?

I’m just here for the summer, then back to the U.S.

Where in the states?

New York.

What city?

Newburgh.

How long have you been singing?

Too long.

He grinned, curious. What’s that mean?

This is it for me. I’m graduating in December. There’s nowhere else to go with it.

But you’re good.

Not good enough. Plus, I hate crowds. Makes me panicky. What about you? You good enough to go pro?

Ian coughed, caught off-guard by the bluntness of her question. You don’t beat around the bush, do you?

So, no? she asked, pushing forward.

Ian laughed slightly. I doubt it.

After he answered, silence stretched between them. For the first time in her life, it made Shea uncomfortable. The desperate need to fill it made her search for something inane to ask. What are you studying?

Ian smiled as he looked at her. Did he sense it was a question she wouldn’t generally stoop to ask?

Well, if I told you it wouldn’t be a mystery, would it?

Amused, Shea began to relax, the awkward silence passing quickly. She found it easy to talk to him, telling him things she’d never dared to tell some of her closest friends. He was a great listener, an excellent story-teller and entertaining to boot. He regaled her with stories of his family, laughing ridiculously loud when she told him of the pranks she’d endured at the hands of her two older brothers. They talked about things of great significance as well as things that didn’t matter a lick. She was spellbound by the captivating Irishman. He, too, seemed intrigued, for he toyed with her shoes as they talked, refusing to return them until she’d stayed just a little while longer.

Campus activity waned then ceased all together. Shea needed to get back. Ian insisted on walking her.

Ian glanced at his watch. It’s after three. The doors will be locked. How will you get in?

Shea reached down her dress and produced a key.

You are resourceful one, Shea Willow.

Surprised he knew her name, she gave him a questioning glance. He pulled out a program from the festival, her name neatly printed as the soloist in the last piece.

Oh.

Now you’re the only one in the dark.

Shea threw a stomping hissy fit. But, how will I ever sleep tonight not knowing your name, she said in her best Scarlett O’Hara impression.

Amused, he handed Shea her shoes, his fingers grazing hers in the exchange. Electricity buzzed between them, intriguing and exciting, sending her heartbeat racing. She searched his eyes, wondering if he had felt it too. She couldn’t tell.

Pulling her hand away, she opened the door, stepped inside and said, Goodnight, Ian McDowell, as she closed the door. She watched him laugh through the glass.

Shea climbed the stairs to the second floor, smiling as she thought of Ian and his wild red hair, the rich color bold and unique. Whimsical freckles dotted his face, the rigidness of his jaw line eliminating any boyish quality the freckles created. He was taller than Shea but she doubted he was over six foot. Whatever he lacked in height, he made up for in bulk. She guessed he could be rather intimidating when he needed to be, but his disarming smile made it hard for her to imagine.

She crept down the hall trying to be as quiet as the creaky floor would allow. She slid the key into the lock and turned the handle. Rebecca stirred slightly in her bed. Shea closed the door and unzipped her dress, securing it on the hanger before she donned her pajamas and climbed into bed.

"You are so filling me in tomorrow," Rebecca whispered from her bed.

Shea smiled. She wouldn’t, of course, but it was nice to have something to tell.

The following morning, Shea groaned as someone sat on the end of the bed. She pulled the covers over her head.

Oh, no you don’t, Rebecca said, yanking the blankets from Shea’s hand. She was already showered and dressed. How, Shea wasn’t sure. The door was beside her bed and she hadn’t heard it open or close once.

Girl, we want to know what happened, Shea heard Erica say. We saw you disappear with that redhead. You will spill it.

Later, Shea said, grabbing for the covers.

You have to get up. Breakfast is only served for another thirty minutes.

Fine.

She pulled on jeans and a red T-shirt with the word Angel printed on it. She took her toiletries out of her suitcase and hurried down to the bathroom, emerging ten minutes later far more presentable. In the lounge, Rebecca and Erica bombarded her with questions. She ignored them, letting the girls speculate about her evening. It didn’t take them long to lose interest knowing Shea wasn’t likely to divulge details. When they arrived in the cafeteria, Shea placed some granola and yogurt on her tray, adding a glass of orange juice as she followed her friends to a table near the exit. She had just put down her tray when Ian appeared next to her, straddling the bench where she was about to sit.

So, how’d you know?

What?

How’d you know?

His leg bounced up and down as she sat next to him. Prominent dark circles lined his eyes. Red stubble shadowed his face. His hair was wet and slicked back. He’d probably had practice this morning.

What time did you have to get up?

Five. How’d you know? he pressed, undeterred.

McDowell, his coach yelled from the door. Ian! he said again when Ian didn’t respond.

Finally, Ian peeled his gaze from Shea. Coach? The coach handed him a letter. He glanced at the envelope briefly before stuffing it into his back pocket and returning his focus to her. She was smiling.

Ah, he said, nodding, realizing his own coach had spoiled his fun last night. His teammates appeared at the table with trays of food. Mountains of food, really. Shea’s friends gladly made room for them.

Ian looked longingly at the counter and said, I’ll be back, before disappearing to get his breakfast.

Rebecca, ever the social butterfly, had introduced everyone by the time Ian returned. He sat his tray next to Shea and dropped to the bench. The group was certainly lively. Within minutes, everyone was laughing like old friends, Rebecca shamelessly flirting with more than one of the soccer players. Shea listened to disgusting stories about what Ian was like on the road. He wasn’t fazed. He assured everyone that Shea was already completely in love with him and nothing they said mattered to her. Shea’s friends laughed wildly, informing Ian that she was too level-headed to fall that hard for someone she’d just met.

Ian smeared yogurt all over his face and turned towards Shea. How about a kiss?

She pushed his dirty face away. How about a shower and a shave?

Ian’s smile lit his eyes as he laughed at her response.

Oh! Shot down. Man, that’s harsh, Ian’s dreadlocked friend said.

Confirming that you are not nearly as charming as you think you are, Shea insisted. He feigned a hurt expression as he wiped away the yogurt.

The group finished eating and cleared out of the cafeteria one by one leaving Ian and Shea alone.

You have a concert tonight? Ian asked.

Yeah. It’s in town. You have a game?

Ian nodded. It’s late, though. Want to meet up this afternoon?

Shea considered. If you promise to shower.

I can do that, he declared, eager to do whatever it took to secure a date. "Why don’t you show me around