Buried Secrets

By Annagail Lynes

New evidence has surfaced in the death of a friend Jessa "Peacock" Masters knew. She is asked to investigate by the victim's brother. Only she and her partner Nate must convince the Intergalactic Intelligence Bureau to let them investigate. Once they start investigating, the trail leads right to the victim's children. What did they see? What did they hear? And why are all the other witnesses dead except the children? Will Jessa discover what really happened to her friend? Or will the trail go cold again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781304398673

Book preview

~one~

Jessa, I need you to investigate this, a man, whose wavy, blond locks shook from side to side as he talked, insisted.  He rolled up a manila envelope and shoved it through the hole in the clear partition that separated him from me. 

I ran my eyes over him from the crown of his head, where his brown roots were re-emerging, down to his pale green eyes, which seemed void of life or spirit, noticing the broken bridge of his nose.  Had that always been there?

Even in his orange jumpsuit, his boyish good looks gave him an air of innocence.        Growing up, his angelic smile charmed our teachers, our principals, all the adults, into believing he could do no wrong.  Even though, he terrorized me and my god-brother, Tony, endlessly.

While doing an undercover piece for the high school paper, he and I became acquaintances, dare I say, friends.  When we grew up, he, Tony and I, each for our own reasons, chose the same path.  We trained to be Federal Agents with a covert organization called the Intergalactic Intelligence Bureau (I.I.B). 

After being an excellent agent for many years, he went undercover to infiltrate a terrorist group, the Utopian Reform Coalition (U.R.C), and turned his back on the I.I.B. He helped the principal players in the Utopian Reform Coalition plant bombs on the Freedom Alliance’s frontline StarVessels, including the Liberty, which I commanded.

In 2100, all the Armed Services came under the rules and regulations of a United Nations-like organization called the Freedom Alliance.  Fifty years later, a disgruntle faction broke away to form the Crimson Fleet.  They wanted to create a one-world, totalitarian government.  When the talks between both organizations broke down, the Freedom Alliance declared war on the Crimson Fleet.

Nate Masters, my partner and husband, and I were instrumental in getting the members of the Utopian Reform Coalition, who planned and executed the bombings, put behind bars.  The man who sat across from me had been among those charged. 

What is it, Nash, I prodded, resting my chin on my hands.

A contact of mine sent me this information, but considering where I am, he noted, nodded to the fierce-looking guards at the doors before gesturing with his handcuffed wrists to the rowdy prisoners on either side of him, I want you to look into it.  All I am asking you to do is find out if this person’s information is valid.

Why me, I returned, tilted my head to the side and searched his eyes.

He pressed his lips together as he locked eyes with me.  Then he admitted, "Because you said that if I helped you stop the Liberty bombing, if I testified against the key members of the plots, you would get me a deal.  And you did.  He stared at his handcuffed wrists, then looked at me.  You did what you promised to do, and I respect that."

Why not Tony?  Or give it to General Graham at the I.I.B.?

He motioned to me with his bounded wrists and explained, If I give you this information, I know that you will see if it has any merit, and if it does, you will follow it through to the end.  He leaned in and said in a low voice, This information, and the case it involves, has a personal connection for Tony and me...and for you too, but you have the objectivity that Tony and I lack.  That’s why I want you and Nate to handle this.

I hesitated for a moment, trying to assess the change I observed in his eyes.  The coldness had been replaced by something else, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.  After a few minutes, I decided that what I saw could only be described as a deep, soul-wrenching sadness. 

I know that I have no right to ask you to do this, so don’t do it for me.  If that information is true, it will affect Tony’s children, your god-children.  Do it for them.

I closed my eyes briefly, then grabbed the manila envelope from the hole.  I wagged my thumb at him and cautioned, Nate and I have been assigned to a pretty big case, so it might take me awhile to get to this.

I understand, Nash replied, the edges of his lips inched up into a smile.

Putting my hand on the envelope, I maintained, I am not promising anything.  Only that I will look into it.

That’s all I’m asking, Nash agreed just as one of the fierce-looking guards approached and led Nash back to his cell.

I sat there for a few moments and gazed at the envelope.  I traveled for days to reach DC, only to have a ten-minute conversation with a man who tried to bomb my StarVessel a month earlier. 

What was in the envelope?  What was so important that Nash Templeton called me to Washington DC?  To the prison in which he was serving his eighteen-month sentence?  So important that he chose me to investigate it?

Glancing down at my watch, I realized I had approximately ten minutes to meet Nate at the SpaceCraft if I hoped to make it back to the Liberty before the end of the week.

I seized the envelope, maneuvered my way around the guards that seemed to occupy every nook and cranny of the facility, toward the front entrance of the prison.

Now, a mere two months later, I stared at the envelope again, brushing my fingers across it. 

Minutes earlier, I sat behind the desk in my office aboard the Liberty.  I leaned back in my black, executive chair, hands intertwined behind my head, and  savored the moment.  The moment after we had submitted our final report to the I.I.B. on one case, right before we started another. 

Glancing over at the family photo that set on my desk, I stared at the two soon-to-be-official members of the family.  My god-children, Rina, fifteen, and Caleb, twelve. 

In the photo, my sister Ashley, fifteen, who also lived with us, and Rina stood between my husband Nate and our son Remy, fourteen.  I sat in the middle of the first row holding baby Mia, who had her first birthday coming up.  The two-year-old twins–Lizzie and Danny–stood against each arm of my chair.  Our daughter, Reggie, eleven, had her hands on Lizzie’s shoulders while my god-son, Caleb, had his on Danny’s.  Nate’s sister Joey and her husband Colin held their one-year-old twins, Rj and Bj, to round out the back row.

Rina and Caleb both had sandy brown hair–a combination of their Dad’s blondish-brown hair and their Mom’s jet-black.  Rina’s cascaded down to her broad shoulders while Caleb’s stopped at his nape.  They had their Dad’s long, narrow nose, but that’s where their similarities ended.  She had light bluish-green eyes like their Mom.  He had piercing blue ones like their Dad.  She had a long face and a square jaw line that mirrored their father’s.  He had a round face and thin eyebrows that resembled their mother’s.

Their mother, Tracey died three years ago.  Their father, Tony, couldn’t deal with her death and started drinking heavily.  When he realized how his drinking affected his children, he relinquished custody of Rina and Caleb to their godmother–me. 

Although Tony would be released from rehab in a matter of days, Tony knew that Rina and Caleb needed a steady environment rather than being carted off to live with their grandmother every time Tony went undercover.  He urged us to adopt Rina and Caleb, and we agreed.  To us, Rina and Caleb were already family.  We just wanted to make it official.

Upon looking at them, I remembered the promise I made to their Uncle Nash, Tracey’s brother.  I unlocked the bottom left-hand drawer of my desk and retrieved the envelope.  I stashed it there when I returned to the Liberty, determined to deal with it when I had more time.  Now seemed like the perfect time to find out the contents of the envelope.  The perfect time to see what Nash Templeton needed me to investigate.

I took a glimpse at my watch.  0955 hours.  Nate would be arriving shortly for our 1000 hours meeting.  He is usually here by now.  I wonder what is keeping him.  He should be with me when I opened the envelope, I decided.  After all, Nash had wanted us both to work on the case. 

Nash’s words played repeatedly in my head: This information, and the case it involves, has a personal connection for Tony and me...and for you too, but you have the objectivity that Tony and I lack.

What did the three of us have in common?  We lived in the same neighborhood growing up and attended the same schools.  We all trained to be Federal Agents and worked for the I.I.B.  My heart felt as if it dropped into my shoes, and my stomach felt as if it might turn over, when I remembered what else we had in common: we all knew Tracey.

Hadn’t he said that if the information turned out to be true that it would affect Rina and Caleb?  Therefore, the envelope had to contain information about Tracey. 

Even after Nate joined me for our meeting, my mind still ran over the possibilities of what the envelope could contain and what it had to do with Tracey.

We took some damage to the engines during that last attack with the Crimson Fleet, but Chief Ryan is sure that she can have the repairs completed by the end of the week, Nate told me, glancing down at his QuanPad, a handheld device that held the memory of a full-sized computer.  I barely listened as he listed the highlights of his meetings with the department heads.

He sat on the window seat, inches away from my desk, that overlooked a porthole.  Looking up from his QuanPad, he required, Peak, are you even listening to me?

Since Nate and I had been partners long before we became friends, Nate and I called each other by our I.I.B. code names–Peacock and Jaguar. 

He acquired the name Jaguar because of his sleek, cat-like moves that helped him get in and out of places and tight situations better than any other agent I knew.  My code-name Peacock referred to the way I did the Peacock Dance–the art of getting close to members of the opposite sex for the sole purpose of  gaining information, which I never let go beyond mere flirting.

Yes, I returned, fingering the envelope, Chief Ryan will have the repairs to the engines done by the end of the week.

He stood, walked around to my side of the desk, hopping on it.  He lifted my chin with his finger, forcing me to look into his eyes that were the color of freshly brewed cappuccino.  What is so fascinating about that envelope anyway?

I allowed my eyes to run over him.  He stood a few inches taller than me and not an ounce of fat could be found on his thin, muscular physique.  With his dark hair that he wore a tad long in the back, those cappuccino-colored eyes I loved to get lost in and his chiseled features, Nate remained as devastatingly handsome as the day I met him.  Especially in his black flight coveralls that matched my own.

As incredible as he appeared on the outside, it was Nate’s soul, his spirit, that took my breath away.  Those who worked with him knew him as intelligent and resourceful with a deep love for his family, especially his wife.  He felt confident in his duties as the first mate of the Liberty and as an agent.  Although they considered him hardworking, consistent and a good leader, they found him to be somewhat standoffish.

His friends and family knew the gentler side of Nate.  The thoughtful, kind and generous man that loved to play basketball with the kids, who enjoyed feeding and cuddling our baby Mia, who would sacrifice his life for his friends, his family, his kids or me.  Even with his friends and family, he could still be somewhat reserved and cautious.

Only I knew his deeply sensitive side.  With me, his defenses came down, and he allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let his soul of a poet, as I called it, shine through. And, for some reason, sharing that secret between us, made me love him even more.

I promised Nash when I went to see him that I would look into this, I answered, resting my hand on the envelope, after we finished our big case.  One of his sources gave him this information.

You’ve had this envelope for two months, he returned, picked it up and turned it around in his hands, and never opened it?

I shook my head and jerked the envelope away from him.  Lifting it seal, I slid out the paperwork.  I perused through the documents–layouts of the building Tracey had been killed in, information  never been released to the public about the case and a list of contacts.  After I handed the paperwork to Nate to inspect, I exclaimed, I know this contact of his, and if what this man is alleging is true...

After Nate spent several minutes going over each document, studying it, he looked up and demanded, Where did you say Nash got this information?

He said from one of his sources, I replied, tapping the top of the pages.  It doesn’t matter who this information came from.  I think this paperwork, what this man is alleging, needs to be investigated.  Tracey deserves that much, doesn’t she?

I’m not the one you have to convince about this case.  You had me at ‘If  what this man is alleging is true...’  It’s your Dad and Graham that are going to be the hard sell, he advised me, reaching his hand out to brush my cheek.  I know things have been strained between you and your Dad, but he is still the head of the I.I.B.

Strained? That is an odd word for it, don’t you think?  How about awkward, forced...maybe labored, I countered while tilting my head to search his eyes.  I shot him a sad smile and added, Better yet, let’s call a spade a spade and say what it really is...damaged.

Three months ago, my biological father, Bradley Thomas, and General Graham tried to prevent me from stopping the Utopian Reform Coalition bombers. 

The I.I.B. assigned me to infiltrate the Utopian Reform Coalition.  They used their SpaceCraft as a mobile headquarters, plotting all their crimes on it.  When they bombed the SpaceCraft in an attempt to kill me, I took its black box and refused to return it.  Key members drugged me with psychotic drugs, wiping out my memory.  Nash, the previous Agent to infiltrate the Utopian Reform Coalition, switched sides after being drugged.  Unfortunately, for the Utopian Reform Coalition, my loyalty to the I.I.B. and the Freedom Alliance remained intact.

My god-brother, Tony, who the I.I.B. dispatched to help me, transferred me to King Edward VII Memorial Hospital in Bermuda, a facility known for successfully reversing the effects of psychotic drugs.

The Utopian Reform Coalition paid one of the psychiatrists at King Edward VII Memorial Hospital to say that I had a complete mental breakdown.  Thus, attacking my credibility.  Even though that same doctor committed suicide, leaving a note behind that spelled out how he had been paid to lie about my condition, my Dad and General Graham still believed him. 

He pushed my hair out of my eyes and whispered, You know what I think?

I motioned him to go on after using my CommLet, a wrist-worn communications device that allowed me to contact any member of the Freedom Alliance just by pressing my thumb to the center and saying their name, to summon my company clerk.

On an intellectual level, you understand that your Dad and Mom left you with your step-father because he threatened to kill them and you, he broached, cradling my face with his hands, but because you were beat up and molested, you still see what they did as a betrayal. He traced my lips with his thumbs and concluded, When he betrayed you again by believing the doctor over you, it brought up all those old feelings.

Yes, but even before we discovered that Bradley Thomas was my biological father, he had worked with me.  He knew me–who I am and what I am about.

Come on, give the man a break.  You weren’t even sure yourself.

My company clerk, Lieutenant Thornhart, picked that moment to march into my office.  Colonel, the red-head, freckled-faced woman who looked more like a sixteen-year-old than a person in her early thirties, prompted.

I scribbled a note.  Upon ripping it off the pad, I attached it to the documents.  I handed them to Lieutenant Thornhart and charged, I want these scanned into the computer and sent to both my father and to General Graham.

The Lieutenant nodded as she took the pre-offered documents and hurried out the doors.

But I had my memory completely wiped clean.  What’s his excuse?

Promise me that you will try and patch things up with him, he bid while moving my hair off my shoulders.  Please, he asked, wearing a downcast expression, feigning a pout, as he put his hands on the sides of my neck.

I don’t see that I have a choice, I answered, shaking my head, snatching my QuanPad off the desk.  He sent word this morning that he will be here in a few days.

He took the QuanPad from me and stared at it.  He looked up and caught my gaze.  Your father is coming here?  Did he give any indication as to why?

I pointed to the QuanPad and snapped, You have the note he sent in your hands.  Do you see a reason?  I lowered my voice and amended, I’m sorry I snapped at you.

Dropping the QuanPad on my desk, he placed his hands on each side of my neck again.  He combed his fingers up through my hair and expressed, It’s going to be okay.  We’ll get through this together, I promise.  He kissed my head. 

I inched my chair away from him and disclosed, He’s bringing Tony with him, and Tony’s new female companion, Ronika Wexler.  I’m just not sure that Rina and Caleb want to see him.  Rina had a hard time when Tony had those few dates with Mars a few months ago.

Tony is the only man I know who goes into rehab...and comes out with a girlfriend, Nate remarked, moving my chair closer to him with my foot.  He lifted my chin and kissed down the curve of my neck. 

Hey, if she stops him from drinking, I am all for it, I responded, then bit my lip in attempt to resist his friendliness. Then he leaned over and tasted my lips, giving them a long and lingering kiss that made every fiber of my body feel as if electricity ran through it.  I raised his face up with my hand and questioned, And what do you want?

As if you didn’t know, he noted, flashing me his million-dollar smile.  The one that made my knees weak and my heart race just looking into it.  He ran his hand over the back of my head several times, staring into my eyes adoringly, and confessed, I want you.  I want to kiss you, to touch you, to just be near you.

You still don’t believe this is real, do you, I assessed, running my fingers through his hair.  I watched him shake his head, then I returned his kiss and looked up into his eyes.  As much as I am enjoying this, we are on duty.  I watched his features fall.  "Why don’t you update me on the meetings you had this morning?

For the next few minutes, he ran over the information he gathered from the department reports.

Just then, Lieutenant Thornhart came over my CommLet. I have two calls for you–one from your father and one from General Graham, she informed me. 

Nate and I exchanged an amused look before he shifted so he could see my terminal better. 

Put  them through.  I’d be grateful if you could place them on a split screen, I directed my company clerk.

When the images came into view, I saw the bald, dark-eyed General seated behind his desk on the left side.  On the right side, sat a man who shared my Roman nose, square jaw line and forest-green eyes.  His once jet-black hair intertwined itself with gray.  The console of the SpaceCraft surrounded him.

Good, you are both here, General Graham began,