Unlikely Allies

By Kathe Arendt

Karen wanted nothing more than to follow in her fathers footsteps and proudly serve as an agent with the FBI. She achieved her goal before her 22nd birthday but quickly learned the glamour of being an agent was very short lived. She made the toughest decision of her career after receiving a case with familiar players. Could she infiltrate a drug ring with her best friend in tow, or would the demands of her job bring an end to their friendship? Karens decision would be her last with the bureau; she resigned the position she loved rather than ruin her most important friendship. Her difficult decision left her unsure of her next steps. She landed a role managing security for The Excelsor, an exclusive Polo/Golf Club in Boca Raton. It was there she met the love of her life, James Caulfield III, and before their relationship was able to flourish, a tragedy almost ripped them apart. They set out on a dangerous trek to Brazil to solve a murder the police determined a suicide, and they had no idea they would align themselves with their most unlikely ally along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491804568

Kathe Arendt

Kathe Arendt enjoyed reading crime thrillers first and foremost and was bitten by the writing bug in college after signing up for a detective fiction humanities elective. Kathe spends her daytime hours as an executive in a Pharmaceutical Company in Scottsdale Arizona, and she is looking forward to retiring in the near future with high hopes of improving her golf game as she leans into writing full-time.

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© 2013 Kathe Arendt. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/24/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0457-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0455-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0456-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013913529

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

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

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Acknowledgements

T hanks to my buddy Ellen for riding the wave of the book with me—your continued encouragement means a lot. A special nod to my brother-in-law Eric for his assistance and a high-five to Susan for helping me cross the finish line!

Chapter One

K aren, you can become anything you want to be if you work at it—just don’t forget where you came from…

How could I ever forget where I came from when Dad reminded me every time I saw him? Growing up in a 1000 square foot house in a blue collar neighborhood was not something I boasted about proudly during my early school days, I would have much rather have come from somewhere else, anywhere else in fact. Why Dad always wanted me to remember where I came from wasn’t very important to me at the time. However, as I grew older, I came to appreciate that little house and the lessons I learned while I lived there.

Dad was very stubborn and he worked two jobs allowing Mom the chance to remain a stay at home Mom with all of us kids. He never showed his feelings or doled out affection around any of us, but somehow we all knew we were special. He was a retired member of the service and I never quite understood what the service meant entirely except he had been in it a long time and now that he was retired he had to work his tail off to make sure we had everything we needed.

Our little neighborhood was nestled in between two town lines and it felt somewhat old fashioned. When you were baking something and you needed an egg, you simply ran next door to the neighbors. I wouldn’t put it past one of the neighbors to discipline any of the kids on the street even if they weren’t their own kids. We all knew each other well and you knew who had a drinking problem, who yelled at their wives, and who was having a party on any given day.

Life in the neighborhood started out pretty uneventful for most of my young life. We lived in a community of working class people who drove average cars, wore average clothes, but always talked about our big dreams. It seemed everyone wanted to be something more; therefore, it was important the younger generation forged a more profitable path for their future. One of the endearing qualities about the people I fondly remember was that everyone watched out for each other. It felt safe most of the time and I never worried about walking home after dark.

It was the greatest childhood one could have because it brought me my best friend when I was in the 3rd grade. We were inseparable and went through everything together. We became more like twins than friends, finishing each other sentences, talking about boys, and wondering if we would ever live through the stress of adolescence. Brooke Ellison and I were forever friends from the first day we met.

During my last few years of High School, sadly, the old neighborhood began a slow transformation and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Some of the families on my street started to move away when their kids moved on, or they lost their jobs, or simply needed a warmer climate. The replacement homeowners weren’t the same. There were more and more seedy looking cars driving slowly up and down the streets, stopping on the corner to talk to the neighborhood kids. Before long, drugs were being bought and sold under everyone’s noses and no one seemed to take any action, or maybe they just didn’t care. It was sad to watch the transformation happen without being able to do a thing about it.

My Dad noticed all too often and did everything he could to keep us away from it. He started making mysterious trips out of the house after dinner and, though it was concealed, he left the house carrying a gun. He would be gone for hours and Mom always said not to worry because everything was fine while she anxiously paced or cleaned the house while he was out. He always returned at some point because I usually heard him leaving for work early the next morning. In all the time I lived at home, my Dad never missed a day of work. He instilled that value into all of us.

When I arrived in High School, I knew I wanted to finish as soon as possible. High School was going well for me and I was actually going to graduate a year early. Instead of study hall and some of the basics classes most other kids opted for, I loaded up with more difficult classes that afforded me college credits instead of taking it easy. Since neither of my parents graduated from college, I was determined to not only make it through college, but also to find a profession that paid a LOT of money. I felt like I always had something more important to do than just attend school like other kids.

Unfortunately, my life drastically changed on June 1, 1980. I was fairly industrious as a youngster; I had a paper route and I was an experienced baby sitter. I socked away all of my hard earned cash into the bank to build up enough money to make it on my own one day. On a fateful June night, I was going babysitting next door just after dark and I was talking to my Dad on the front porch when a car came screaming down the street. The car window opened and I suddenly was thrust off the step and crashed to the ground. I remember hearing a loud POP and the next thing I saw was my Dad lying on the ground next to me with blood running out of his mouth and nose. I lay there completely frozen. It was like everything was in slow motion. I couldn’t even scream because my entire body seemed to be locked exactly where I was and I couldn’t peel my eyes off of my father.

At some point, my mother pulled me into the house but I didn’t want to leave the space next to my Dad. I wanted so badly to wake up from this terrible dream but I wasn’t sleeping. I couldn’t cry and my mother had her arms around me telling me it was going to be okay. What would be okay I thought? Didn’t I just see my Dad on the lawn out front?

The police arrived in minutes and everyone was asking me what I heard or saw. It seemed like an eternity before I got my wits about me again. Once I was able to speak, I told Officer Jim Davies what I remembered. I was amazed that I remembered the last three numbers off the license plate—489 on the back of a dark brown 4-door car with a dent in the right back wheel well. I never saw anyone in the car, but my father knew what was about to happen and had instinctively pushed me to the ground to protect me. When I think about his sacrifice, I feel so much love, respect, and deep sorrow for him all at the same time. The next few days were horrible and I don’t want to rehash the angst we all felt every day we woke up waiting for Dad to come home from work.

Mom comforted us as much as she could and kept a brave front until the night of the wake. It was draining, with a never-ending line of well-wishers, and I shook hands and hugged relatives I hardly remembered. I felt like I was in a movie until 4:05 pm. It was finally the end of the first viewing and we were left alone with Dad in the coffin. None of us really knew what to do and we walked around awkwardly. My two brothers wrestled around a bit, while my sister never left her chair. She remained completely erect without ever taking her eyes off Dad. A look of complete sadness came over my mother’s face when she stood in front of the casket and told us all to be quiet. She leaned over and left a small kiss on Dad’s forehead and began to quietly cry. As I watched, I realized it was the first time I ever saw my mother cry openly and it saddened me to the deepest part of my soul. I was caught up in my own 17-year-old sadness through most of the past week, but only now just realized that my mother had lost her husband and had four kids to bring up on her own.

We all somehow made it through the next set of calling hours and I went straight to bed as soon as I got home. I was too tired to sleep and I just lay there looking into the darkness when I heard someone tapping on my window—it was Brooke. I smiled since she was the one person I could always count on to be there when I needed her. I snuck out of the house and we sat on the sidewalk for hours talking about what to do about the shooters who took my father away from us. We decided we were going to catch them ourselves and we had some awful fates planned for all of them, or at least as awful as two teenage girls could concoct on the sidewalk in the dark.

Brooke always knew what to say and when to say nothing at all. I crept back into the house and slept soundly for the rest of the night. When I woke the next morning, Brooke was already downstairs with breakfast that her mother had made for us. What a lucky person I was to have a great friend like that and I tried not to think about the funeral just a few hours away.

After the funeral mass, we proceeded to the cemetery for a full military burial. I looked at all the sad faces at the cemetery and couldn’t take my eyes off of a group of five men standing together as I had never seen them before. The more I stared at them I thought one or two looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place them. When we walked to the car to head home, I saw my Mom talking to the same men. She shook each of their hands and put an envelope into her purse. When I asked her who they were, she said they were just a few of my Dad’s friends. For as long as I could remember back, my parents didn’t have any friends. They went to my Uncle’s house Friday nights to play cards, but they didn’t have any other friends that any of us knew of. For some reason I couldn’t let the matter go and kept pestering Mom about it. She finally grabbed me by both arms and said, Drop it. I never heard her speak like that to any of us—she was so soft spoken—and I figured I should probably leave it alone for now.

I had one more week before my graduation from High School and needed to pick out a dress; therefore, I had important things to take care of anyway and those men could wait until another time. Mom wanted me to buy something new and I knew she needed the money for the household so I borrowed a dress from Brooke. Graduation night came and although I graduated earlier than my friends, it felt like I had waited for this day forever. Sadly, my Dad wasn’t going to be able to see it all unfold and, while we tried to celebrate and look happy, it was hard to be cheery without him.

After arriving home from my graduation dinner and changing, Mom asked me to sit down at the kitchen table because she had a letter to read to me. It was a letter from Dad and it was written six months ago. He left it in a locked drawer in case anything happened to him. I thought it very mysterious that he would write a letter to me without possibly knowing he would be shot on our front lawn. He never went to college but as my mother read the letter, I remember it sounding like it was from someone important and well-spoken and I hung on every word.

I learned that one of my father’s two jobs entailed working as a special agent in a civilian section of the FBI. He had been trained as a Senior Agent agent in the drug division and continued undercover work after he retired. He was a proud service member for 34 years and although he never spoke of his time in the military, we were all very proud of him. On flag days, we hung our flag, and during elections he always reminded us of the importance of our vote. Every vote counts, as if we could have ever forgotten that statement echoing around the house. He served his country proudly, fought in two wars, and we never forgot the sacrifices he and others made for our safety and freedoms.

Mom paused from reading the letter to explain how Dad felt about his country and serving it proudly, and I already well understood. It sounds a little lame but, knowing Dad, he probably said it to her as many times as he said it to us kids. He was a humble man and never said no when his help was needed and we had no idea what kind of people he ran into in his line of work. While he didn’t specifically say he could be in danger in his letter, I was starting to piece together the idea as Mom continued reading. It was clear someone must have recognized him on one of his earlier drug raids and he knew he was in danger causing him to write the letter in case, something happened all the while never really thinking the worst would happen.

The letter was filled with nice things Dad said about me, and since he never said much to me about deep topics like feelings and all that stuff, it was nice to hear it out loud. Once Mom ended the letter, she folded it and put it back in the envelope. I asked if I could keep the letter and she said that wasn’t possible because she had to shred it according to Dad’s instructions. I thought that sounded a little dramatic and I asked if I could at least read it again and she still said no. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to read a letter addressed to me! When Mom went to bed I found the letter mixed in with some other papers on the kitchen table and I went out to the back porch to read it with a flashlight. It was mine after all and back then I had no idea that the letter was going to provide the road map for my future.

I noticed the last paragraph was omitted when she read the letter aloud to me earlier. Dad described my personality and told me how perfectly I was suited to work for the FBI. Work for the FBI? Really? How exciting it was to read something like that knowing I could be an agent some day. Hmm, I thought he was too busy to notice my drive and ambition but I guess he always knew. He said my stubbornness, intelligence, and my very fit physique would help me adapt to any situation. He thought I could fit in anywhere without being noticed, and I thought that was the greatest compliment he could have given me. He sometimes saw me before I headed out with friends and he used to say I was built like a brick shithouse. I thought that meant I was shaped like a square fat man but I guess it meant he thought I had a good figure.

I was a fairly athletic person, I was strong, and the thought of working for the FBI sounded like an exotic calling. I remember learning basic self-defense with Dad in the back yard and he said he hoped I never had to use anything I learned. I was always interested in learning even more and thanks to Dad I felt like I could take care of myself no matter the size of the guy coming after me. It was also nice being alone, just me and Dad spending time learning something new and I jumped at the chance to wrestle with him whenever he had the time.

I quickly understood my mother’s reluctance to read me the entire letter because she had just lost her husband, and she didn’t want to lose a daughter one day too. I can’t blame her really and I also didn’t want to fess up to reading the entire letter. I carefully put it back where she left it and thought long and hard about the implication. I laughed to myself because I knew immediately I wanted to follow in my Dad’s footsteps and would pursue it without Mom knowing where my real inspiration came from.

Chapter Two

I had always known college tuition was going to be difficult unless I got a full scholarship and, since that didn’t happen, I was left working in a full-time job that was less than fulfilling after High School. I knew I didn’t want to work in a department store for the rest of my life, I was certain of that. I wanted to do something more and I had to get out of the small town in Connecticut and find my way on my own. I wasn’t scared to leave because I knew I could take care of myself and, after reading that short paragraph in my Dad’s letter, I decided right away I desperately wanted to get into the FBI Academy. It was going to take a while however because I was 17 without a college degree, but I was determined to make it no matter how hard the process was going to be. I don’t believe anyone can stop a motivated and determined person no matter the obstacles.

I talked over my decision with Brooke and initially she laughed, thinking I was kidding until she saw that I wasn’t laughing with her. She knew me better than anyone however, and she knew I was determined to make it happen. As usual, she was 100% behind me right from the start. I enrolled in college full-time while continuing a full-time job at the store and it was a grueling schedule. I never took time off from school, not even in the summer, and I proudly completed my Bachelor of Science degree in criminal justice in 2 ½ years.

My mother was so proud of my accomplishment I had no idea how I was going to tell her I was moving to Virginia as soon as I found a job with the FBI. She always encouraged us to reach for our dreams no matter where they took you, and I was confident she would feel that way now. Before I even thought about moving, I needed to find a sponsor to get a chance to meet the right contacts in the bureau. I can’t just pick up the phone, introduce myself and magically you’re in the FBI. I needed to find the right person who was well connected to help me fulfill my dream.

A good walk on the beach always helps to clear my head, and as I walked I started to think back to the odd group of men I saw at the