His True Protectors

By Lynn Chantale

Revenge is his game, and Black Hemlock is willing to do anything to settle the score.

For years, Black Hemlock has been biding his time, sulking that bragging rights to a long ago cyber heist was snatched from him. Throw in betrayal and a broken heart, and he has the perfect motive for murder.

Once more True Detective Agency is calle

• Language: English
• Publisher: The House of Lynn
• Release date: Dec 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087932705

Lynn Chantale

Lynn Chantale resides in southeastern Michigan and she is determined to enjoy all that life has to offer. She has a mad affinity for milk chocolate, old school R & B, and socks. Yes, socks. The crazier and more outrageous the better.She's a multi-published author in ebooks and has recently stepped into the self-publishing world. So far both experiences have been rewarding.

Book preview

Chapter One

Billy Brown knew he was dying. Not from a chronic illness or a sudden tragic tumor, but from poison. There was no cure for the poison he’d been given, so he’d have to make the most of his last few minutes on Earth.

Footsteps and laughter trailed behind him, and he quickened his already sluggish pace. He just needed to get to a computer. He couldn’t die without his death meaning something. He had to warn the others.

Billy had long since ditched his thick glasses for Lasik and contacts. The years between college graduation and a spectacular software development career had given him more confidence in his life. And all of that had been made possible by what they’d done at the beginning of their senior year.

Now it was coming for its pound of flesh.

Had he done something in the ensuing years to give away who he was to Lazarus? He hadn’t known any of his co-conspirators. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Even though they’d worn masks, he’d been able to identify the others. Is that what Lazarus had done? Figured out who each of them were?

How could something they’d gotten away with years ago kill him? How could avenging the dead kill him?

No. One person. Lazarus. Billy hadn’t liked Lazarus when they were in school and liked him even less now. Who holds a grudge for this long? Lazarus had been paid for his time, no matter how poor his work had been. Lazarus had gotten paid same as the rest of them. Even though Lazarus didn’t understand or appreciate why the heist was committed in the first place.

And now Lazarus had killed him with a poison.

Come out and play, Wicked, Lazarus taunted. You’re not being a good play partner. The ensuing jibe brought Billy up short.

Of all the things for Lazarus to pervert, it would be His love of bondage. Billy stared at the trailing ends of rope a moment. Another hollow crack spurred him forward.

Billy shuffled into the office, closed and locked the door. He stumbled to the desk and flopped in the chair.

The monitor blurred, while his heart threatened to beat right through his ribs. He couldn’t feel his toes anymore, and now his nose was running. He swiped at the moisture and stared at the smear in confusion.

He was bleeding.

The realization snapped his mind back to the task at hand. Lazarus wanted Billy’s share of the money plus interest. Well that wasn’t going to happen.

He typed furiously, his fingers dancing over the keys like a composer at the piano.

Come out, come out wherever you are, came the singsong taunt. Give me what I want and I’ll end your suffering.

Fucking psycho, Billy muttered. Not sure why they’d ever thought to use Lazarus as a hacker for their plans. Now he needed to warn Uncivil and DevelsLinc. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to get in touch with Galahad. That cat seemed to have fallen completely off the grid. Billy didn’t blame him now. At least Galahad would still be alive after all of this.

Billy stopped typing, losing his train of thought. He stared at the code as it blurred and danced before his vision.

He had to do this. This was going to be the very last thing he did and he wanted to save the men who had been his friends and co-conspirators in this scheme. They didn’t deserve to die like he was dying.

He coughed and bloody phlegm landed on the desk blotter. He tapped a few more keys as the office door splintered open.

He clicked the mouse twice, and the screen dissolved into pixels. He smiled at the man with the crooked nose glaring at him.

You’re too late, Billy gasped. He groaned and clutched his abdomen.

I want my money.

You’ll never get it now.

Lazarus shoved Billy aside and typed. The scene remained pixelated. Get it back.

Billy laughed. Fuck you, Lazarus!

Lazarus turned and jabbed a syringe into Billy’s neck, depressing the plunger. The name is Black Hemlock.

Billy gasped as he went rigid. He toppled to the floor convulsing.

Movement and color caught the corner of his eye. Black Hemlock faced the monitor once more. A three-second timer flashed on the screen.

Black Hemlock jumped over Billy’s inert body.

He had just enough time to hit the floor as the monitor and computer exploded in a shower of sparks and melted plastic. Well shit, he swore. Whatever thought he harbored of carrying out the CPU was gone. The terminal was little more than slag.

He picked himself up from the floor and dusted his clothes. That’s fine. There are three others I need to make pay.

Chapter Two

Mattia Bianchi tossed a credit card on the desk. His partner, a well-muscled black man with full lips and serious eyes scowled at him.

Wanna tell me why the card is being declined? Matt said by way of greeting.

Carson moved the card aside and went back to typing. One of two things: the system is down or the card is maxed out, he answered. Either way take it up with Sterling. He handles the bills.

Ok. Matt peered over the top of the computer. What are you working on?

I’m working on an algorithm that will allow us to disseminate information at a more expedient rate.

All righty then. Matt slid off the desk. All you had to say was you’re busy.

And I’m also trying to ascertain where this particular strain of malware originated. Some enterprising individual insists on attacking our firewall.

Matt picked up the card and left the office. He crossed the thick expanse of carpeting of the waiting room to Sterling True’s office. He knocked on the open door.

Sterling, bald, mustached and serious, swiveled in his chair and held up a hand. He cradled a phone between his shoulder and ear. Sterling pressed a button.

I’m on hold. How may I help you?

Matt held up the card. It’s being declined.

Sterling frowned. Odd. The account should be at zero. I’ll check once I’m — Yes. Yes, I’m here.

Matt crossed the lobby again. This time he walked through the open door next to Carson’s office. A slender but curvy woman sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes closed and shoulders relaxed. Except for the rise and fall of her chest, she was completely still.

With a sigh, Matt settled next to her. Inhaled, and slowly released the breath. He did this several times before a sexy voice broke the silence.

Now don’t you feel much better, she asked.

He cracked one eye to see her grinning at him. Not really. Does this really help you?

As long as your agitated vibes aren’t interfering in my happy place.

He grinned, showing off dimples on either side of his lean face. There are other ways to settle the mind, he said suggestively.

She stood and stretched. Yes, alcohol.

He stood and caressed her bare arm. C’mon. You can’t tell me you’re not excited about tonight.

She sidled close to him, her body so close her heat seeped into his. Her lips parted, a soft invitation.

I’m very excited for tonight. I’ve a new paddle I’ve been waiting to try on the two of you. She stepped back and out of his reach.

He sucked in a breath, his body hard and ready at her words. He shifted his erection to a more comfortable position. She only laughed.

You are such a tease, he groused.

You love it! She plopped into the leather executive chair with a smile. She wiggled the mouse, frowning at the screen. Ugh! The computer’s doing that weird flippy thing again. And this time there’s random letters roaming across the screen.

Lemme see.

She swiveled the monitor in his direction. See?

He grabbed the keyboard and pressed control+alt+delete. Nothing happened. Did you click on any links or open any email attachments?

She stared at him, her face stale.

Right. You treat the technology like public restrooms; you only touch what you have to.

And you wonder why I keep a typewriter.

I’ll go ask our resident Geek Squad and see if he can fix it.

She pulled the dustcover from an old-fashioned typewriter and switched it on. It hummed to life.

I’ll have my report ready by the time he gets it fixed, she told him.

The phone rang at her elbow. She picked it up. Yes?

Could you come to my office a moment, please?

Puzzled, Nathalie hung up the phone.

Nathalie left the office she shared with Matt and paused just outside the door. An array of green plants were situated on a waist-high shelf. She picked up a small spray bottle and spritzed a few of the thirstier plants. She made a mental note to trim some of the dead leaves on the others.

She glanced to her left and Carson’s open door. Matt was seated on a corner of the desk. The waiting area held no reception desk, but it did hold several slate gray leather chairs and a couple of low silver and glass tables. The soft lavender walls were a soothing contrast to the more masculine furniture.

She straightened a jacket on the coat tree before continuing to Sterling’s office. His office was directly opposite the entryway, eliminating the need for a receptionist. She paused on the threshold and tapped on the open door.

He motioned her forward. Close the door and have a seat.

She closed the door but stood in front of his desk. What’s going on?

Sit down, he repeated.

I’ll stand, she replied firmly. Knots of apprehension tightened her stomach as she studied the tight lines around his mouth and eyes.

There was always a lingering sadness in Sterling’s eyes, but now worry and maybe a little fear resided in the irises. She twisted her fingers in the folds of her cargo pants. When she realized what she was doing, she forced her hands to relax. Whatever Sterling had to say couldn’t be that bad.

He sighed. For whatever reason, Jude Murphy is up for parole.

Nathalie gripped the desk as the world tilted. She didn’t remember sinking into the chair, but she was grateful for the support. "That’s—that’s impossible.

She sucked in a breath, her chest tight. She couldn’t breathe. No matter how hard she forced air into her lungs, they just wouldn’t expand. Pinpoints of light danced before her eyes. Sterling’s gentle voice called to her as if from a distance. She focused on his rich baritone and slowly the pressure eased.

The desk chair creaked as Sterling stood and rounded his desk. He knelt next to Nathalie but did not touch her.

Breathe or I’ll have to get one of the guys.

She shook her head, tiny braids flying about her shoulders. No. Don’t. They’ll hire bodyguards and everything else. She gulped several deep breaths, holding to the rest of her composure by mere fingernails. She pressed a hand to her abdomen. Even through her thin cotton shirt, the raised scars met her palm. I’m okay. She reached over and gripped his hand. She had to, or else she’d completely fall apart. There was no room for hysterics. She had to remain calm.

How did this happen, Sterling? She couldn’t keep the tears from her voice.

He squeezed her hand. I don’t know, sweetheart. I promise you, I will find out.

With his free hand, he reached in his pocket and handed her a downy white handkerchief. Take a moment. Compose yourself. You know how perceptive your men are.

She managed a weak smile as she dabbed her eyes. Jude is still in prison, right? Nathalie hated the small tremor in her voice.

Sterling nodded. Yes. I’ve checked with the warden and a friend who is a supervisor on the cellblock. Jude is still incarcerated.

Nathalie blew out a shaky breath. Some of the tension left her body. Okay. She stared at her hands. You know, they’re the ones who found me, she began softly. I wouldn’t be alive today if not for Carson and Matt."

Sterling shifted to the chair beside hers.

I fought as hard as I could, and it still wasn’t enough. She stared at the vacant leather chair. There are still things I can’t do. You know how some people can just pig out at a buffet? I can’t do that or I’ll get sick. I don’t think I’ve had a steak or poultry in years. She managed a self-deprecating smile. "Once in a while I’ll try a small