The Blue House in Bishop

By Sunanda J. Chatterjee

A broken soldier with a past, a doctor with a secret, an ex-cop with a mission, and a mysterious woman must fight a drug lord and the FBI to find justice.

After an accident, ex-Special Forces Capt. Duke Wilcox is forced to recover in the house of his old college roommate, Dr. Sunil Samant. Haunted by his failed mission and failed marriage, Duke has lost his trust in women and yearns for a chance to redeem himself.

Indian Police Inspector Alisha Raj has a passion for bringing criminals to justice. After leaving the police force with a broken heart, she agrees to an "arranged marriage" with Sunil. But it is an unusual proposal; Sunil asks Alisha to pretend to be his fiancée to please his dying mother.

Alisha comes to Bishop to leave her past behind, only to fall hopelessly in love with Duke. But she is engaged to Sunil, whose mother is expected to visit any day. The attraction seems mutual, but Duke's troubled past prevents him from opening his heart.

Everything changes when a mysterious woman shows up with a baby, seeking Sunil's help.

But is this woman who she claims to be? Why is the FBI after her? And how is she involved with a Colombian Drug lord?

A story of loyalty, camaraderie, and love, The Blue House in Bishop brings four strangers together in a fight for survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunanda J. Chatterjee
• Release date: Jan 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9798215397572

Sunanda J. Chatterjee

Freelance author, blogger, and ex-Indian Air Force physician Sunanda Joshi Chatterjee completed her graduate studies in Los Angeles, where she is a practicing pathologist. While medicine is her profession, writing is her passion. When she’s not at the microscope making diagnoses, she loves to write fiction. Her themes include romantic sagas, family dramas, immigrant experiences, women’s issues, and medicine. She loves extraordinary love stories and heartwarming tales of duty and passion. Her short stories have appeared in short-story.net and induswomanwriting.com. She grew up in Bhilai, India, and lives in Arcadia, California with her husband and two wonderful children. In her free time, she paints, reads, sings, goes on long walks, and binge-watches TV crime dramas.

Book preview

Prologue

In a small, dimly lit back office of a shabby convenience store in eastern Pennsylvania, a young woman in a tank top and skinny jeans squirmed in her seat.

Special Agent McCoy, a tall, lithe man with cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a dark suit, sat across from her. His partner, a leggy blonde with a tight ponytail, also in a pantsuit, walked around to sit on the desk and swung one leg, the other stretched out in front of her.

The blonde shoved a photograph toward the young woman. Amy, are you sure it was her? Her voice was deceptively soft and encouraging. Rusty filing cabinets lined the walls, some partially open, some dented.

I’m pretty sure, Officer. The woman wrung her hands and shifted in her chair.

It’s Special Agent McCoy, said the man. This is my partner, Agent Greene. FBI.

The young woman said, Do… do I get a reward?

Special Agent McCoy said, Please look at the photo carefully. Are you absolutely sure it was her?

The woman nodded, a hungry look in her eyes. That’s why I called.

McCoy straightened in his chair. What happened that day?

I had just come off my break. It was raining, and we didn’t expect many customers. She came in wearing a dark hoodie. First, I thought she was pregnant, then I realized it was a baby carrier. She motioned to her belly and chest. She’d zipped up the jacket over the baby to protect it from the rain, I suppose.

The woman looked nervous, her eyes darting from agent to agent. McCoy noted the woman’s hands, which now lay perfectly still in her lap. His instincts, honed by years of experience, told him to trust her. Liars fidget. Ergo, she’s telling the truth.

Agent Greene said, And why did you remember her?

Amy looked up at Agent Greene. She seemed furtive. She brought her cart to my cash register. She gave me a credit card.

McCoy’s eyes glinted. Did she use her own card or did she steal one? Do you remember the name on the card?

Amy gave a small smile. Felicity Spencer.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. She used an alias.

Greene frowned and said, That’s an odd thing to remember.

Amy turned to Agent Greene. I had a classmate in high school by that name.

The first break, real or not. McCoy said, Was this woman your classmate?

Oh no! My classmate died in our senior year. Leukemia.

McCoy knitted his fingers together. Do you know that for sure?

Well, when she got sick, she went to live with her grandmother in the city. We heard later that she died.

The agents exchanged a glance. McCoy said, I see.

Greene said, Did the woman in the store resemble the real Felicity?

No, Felicity was a redhead. This woman had a hoodie pulled down on her forehead, but I could see long blonde hair.

Eyes?

I don’t know… blue?

It was her! McCoy nodded and sat back in his chair. Then what happened?

Well, I saw the back of the card and told the woman she’d forgotten to sign it. I offered her a pen to sign the card, but her hands started shaking. She grabbed the card from me, and instead of signing it, she shoved it back into her purse. Then she pulled out a wad of bills and paid in cash.

Did she buy hair color?

Amy frowned. I can’t remember. Sorry.

McCoy got up. Now that they had a name to go with the face, finding her would not be a problem. She had slipped out under their noses, and McCoy was furious with himself. But he’d get her now. What McCoy wanted, he got.

He said, Everything you said matches what we saw in the security camera footage. But the camera behind you was busted, so we couldn’t see her face. But you’re absolutely sure it was this woman?

Amy nodded eagerly. I’m positive.

McCoy said, Does the name Todd Campo mean anything to you?

She shook her head.

The agents exchanged another glance and got up.

Amy said, Sir! Hey! Do I get a reward?

McCoy rolled his eyes and left the room.

Amy said, Is she… Am I in any danger?

Agent Greene paused with her hand on the doorknob. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, If you see her again, the first thing you should do is to call the number on this card.

Chapter 1

Duke Wilcox felt someone pull him out of the wreckage. Scissors squeaked as gentle hands cut away at his leather jacket, T-shirt, and jeans. Gentle hands like Betsy’s. His head felt heavy. In the blackness of the night, with the roads slippery in the drizzle, he hadn’t seen the telephone pole.

Cool air chilled his bare body. He heard a woman’s voice, What’s this tattoo?

A man’s voice answered, De Oppressor Liber. This guy’s Special Forces. My cousin joined a year ago. It’s their motto. To liberate the oppressed.

Oh yeah? Looks like the tables are turned, said the woman, pulling him away from the totaled truck.

Duke’s right eye was swollen shut. He peered at his wrist, a bone sticking out of his skin at a grotesque angle. Agony ripped through his ankles and thigh. He didn’t have the energy to speak.

Or the desire.

Respect your soldiers, Jill! said the man. They keep us safe!

And who keeps them safe? Us, the unsung heroes, driving around in the rain, rescuing our saviors! Why didn’t he try to kill himself near the VA?

I didn’t want to kill myself. Duke groaned from the pain. Although death is preferable to the hell that is my life.

He felt the paramedics lift him on to the stretcher and strap him down. Cold drizzle fell on his forehead as they carried him into the ambulance.

The door snapped shut.

Vague voices. His name is Duke Wilcox. Thirty-two. Ex-Special Forces. Colorado driver’s license.

What’s he doing in Bishop?

Driving through.

Who knows? The man reeks of alcohol. Nothing worse than a drunk driver in the rain.

As the ambulance made a sharp turn and trundled down the road, sirens blared, and ex-Special Forces Captain Duke Wilcox passed out.

Chapter 2

When he woke up, Duke found himself in a hospital bed, a white screen blocking his view of the door. His soldier-instinct made him uneasy. He always needed to keep the exit in the line of sight. He always needed his back to a wall, so no one could sneak up on him.

Duke turned to look behind him, but the neck collar limited his movement. He felt groggy. A headache loomed, his pulse thundering in his temples.

Someone paged a doctor on the PA system. Out in the hallway, a nurse told a colleague about her date the night before. And he tells me his mother is going to love me. On our second date!

They giggled. A second voice said, Men are so stupid!

Duke took a deep breath. They weren’t wrong.

A sharp pain stabbed through his leg and he winced. He remembered passing in and out of consciousness as they rushed him through the ER to the operating room and drugged him to keep the pain at bay. He had a vague memory of doctors with masks and gloves, bright overhead lights. Darkness. And pain.

But the pain he felt was not from his broken bones.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his wife’s porcelain legs wrapped around his best friend’s torso. He saw red-hot anger at her betrayal… the pallor of the shock on her face… the crisp divorce papers she handed him with such ease.

Three years of love, gone in a moment.

He also saw another face. A woman in a hijab, eyes wide as boulders, terrified. The sound of a falling spoon. The flash of gunfire. Blood and brains splattered on the wall.

He squeezed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

Someone approached, raising his hackles. He tried to move his hand. Where’s my gun?

His eyes darted to the door as a doctor in a white coat entered his room.

The man smiled. Oh, you’re awake! How do you feel?

Duke’s voice cracked. Like hell.

The man laughed. You haven’t changed a bit.

Duke frowned and stared at him. The doctor looked familiar: dark skin, lanky arms and legs, nice teeth. His ID tag faced backwards, so he couldn’t see a name.

You don’t remember me? I’m Sunil. Sunil Samant. You were my college roommate, buddy. Until you left for the army. I was on duty in the ER when they brought you in. I recognized you right away!

Duke remembered his roommate: brooding type, mop of unruly hair, crooked teeth. This guy looked the same except for perfect pearly whites, which he flashed without apparent cause. The wonders of modern dentistry.

Sunil must have seen him staring at his teeth. He pointed to his mouth. Russian technology.

Duke didn’t reply.

Sunil said, How’s Betsy?

Duke looked up. He hadn’t told his old friends when he’d got married.

Sunil said, I saw the photos in your wallet. Her name was written on the back. But your phone was destroyed in the crash, so I couldn’t find a number to call her.

Duke closed his eyes. It’s over.

The man paused. I’m sorry to hear that. What brings you to Bishop? What do you plan to do?

He shrugged, and lancinating pain shot through his shoulder. His right wrist was in a cast. So was his left leg. Drive on, I suppose.

Sunil was already shaking his head. Your truck was totaled. You have four broken bones. The ortho guys fixed you up, but they decided to leave the cast on for a few days. You’ll need physical therapy. If you don’t have any family…

I don’t need family.

Sunil grinned, showing his teeth, clearly proud of his orthodontic treatments. Duke had to admit Sunil’s smile lit up a room.

Sunil said, You’re coming home with me. I bought a big house last year. It’s in the middle of the woods and it’s lying empty. You can recuperate there.

Duke looked at this man who had once been his friend, whom he barely remembered, but who was willing to host a near-total stranger in his house. Why would you do that?

Sunil looked at him with concern. They’re charging you with DUI. You can’t leave the county.

I was driving under the influence, but I didn’t kill anyone.

Sunil laughed. Yeah, but you killed a telephone pole. It’s government property.

Duke glanced over Sunil’s shoulder. So where are the cops?

His face turned serious. I’ll ask them to release you under my supervision. I know the cops and the DA here. They’re good folk.

Duke looked at Sunil. What’s the catch?

You’ll go to rehab. AA meetings. And therapy.

I’m not an alcoholic. And therapy is for wimps.

Oh yeah? Isn’t a guy who can’t walk or take care of himself also called a wimp?

Duke groaned. Do I have a choice?

Sunil grinned again. Did this man ever have a reason not to smile? If you’re able to walk, they will discharge you. I’ll get your crutches.

Duke tried to sit up, but the pain in his ankle was intense.

Walk through the pain!

Duke noticed he had no sensation in his right hand. Frowning, he said, What about you? Married?

No. The house is quite empty.

He tried to form a fist, but could barely move his fingers. Must be a residual effect of the surgery. But he could tell no one lest they make him stay in the hospital. He needed to get out. Seeing anyone?

I was seeing this nurse… but we broke up.

As if on cue, a pretty nurse came in. Ah, the soldier is ready to walk! I’m Renata, your nurse. Let me help you. She ignored Sunil, whose smile disappeared as he flushed. Could this be the nurse he broke up with?

Duke didn’t look at her. After what his wife did to him, how could he ever trust a woman? He raised himself from the bed and said, I don’t need your help.

He took a few steps on the crutches. Together, Duke, Sunil, and Renata walked down the hallway to the nurses’ station. Duke glanced into each room as he made his way, and saw people of all shapes and sizes, some with casts, others with bandages, some sitting up and eating, others lying in bed, lost to the world. Many had relatives sitting in uncomfortable chairs, waiting for their loved one to recuperate.

Duke was alone.

The fluorescent lights reflected off the polished floors, blinding Duke, but he struggled on. I’ve got to get out of here.

A muscular nurse was filing charts at the nurses’ station. His ID badge said: Raul Moreno. A tattoo of a motorcycle showed below this sleeve. He looked up at the trio, and Duke was surprised to see him blush.

Raul, said Renata. Look at your patient. He’s walking now!

The nurse said, Thanks, sis.

Duke looked at Renata’s nametag again. Renata Moreno.

She turned to Duke and said, My brother was a medic in the Marines. He took an extra shift just to take care of you, a military brother. But now you’re under my charge.

Duke didn’t want to be under anyone’s charge. He was his own master. Thank you for your service, Raul.

And you, sir, said Raul. Congratulations on your Bronze Star.

Duke hung his head. A medal he didn’t think he deserved. Then he looked up at Raul. How did he know?

Raul said, I get the emails.

Sunil said, A true American hero under my roof.

Duke didn’t answer.

Sunil said, Um… I’ll have Dr. Dickson prepare the discharge papers for tomorrow. The neck brace can come off. No C-spine fracture.

Duke hobbled down the hallways all day until he was comfortable with the crutches. By nighttime, he was exhausted. Renata came to his room more than seemed necessary, checking his blood pressure, asking if he needed something to eat.

He waved her away.

But she persisted. How do you know Dr. Samant?

He was my college roommate.

What was he like?

Duke said, He was studious, hardworking.

Loyal?

That was a strange thing to ask. Duke supposed Sunil turned out to be a loyal friend, considering he was giving Duke a home. Yeah.

Renata smiled a sad, wistful smile, and Duke wondered why they had broken up. But it was not his nature to pry.

The next morning, Dr. Dickson checked on him and decided he was ready to go home, as long as he was under the care of Sunil Samant. Under normal circumstances, I’d have kept you in-house for a couple more days.

I need to get out of here. Each minute in the stuffy hospital felt like an hour.

Dr. Dickson nodded. I’ll draw up your papers.

Duke went to the toilet and looked into the mirror. A stranger stared back. A sutured gash decorated his forehead, his right eye still swollen and bruised. An itchy stubble covered his chin.

Who cares how I look?

Still, he shaved and brushed his teeth. When he returned to his bed, he saw a pile of neatly folded clothes with a note from Sunil: These should fit you. Be ready in a couple of hours. Your buddy, Sunil.

Duke put on the clothes, which fit surprisingly well, considering Sunil was a slender man. Inside the collar, he saw a name written in black ink: Raul Moreno. He smiled. Military brothers.

Sunil visited him in the hospital room before lunchtime. Great! The clothes fit you! Listen, I’ll be home late. I’ve called a cab for you, unless you want to stay here until the end of my shift.

I’ll take the cab.

They went outside together, with Sunil trying to assist Duke, who resisted any help. I can manage.

The front door of the hospital swished open into a concrete and brick courtyard, surrounded by patches of grass, pines, and neatly trimmed bushes. An alabaster statue of Mother Mary shone in the sun, in front of which a woman prayed and a kid ran in circles. An occasional car waited to pick up a patient. An ambulance idled. A young man walked in with a little boy, holding a bouquet and a pink balloon: Congrats, Mom!

Duke sighed. A happy family. Something denied to him, a faithful husband.

The cab was waiting at the entrance. Sunil smiled at the driver and gave directions. It’s the big blue house all the way at the end of Bishop Avenue. In the woods. Slow down when you cross the second bridge over the creek. The turnout is on the left. It’s hidden behind pines, so keep a sharp lookout.

He turned to Duke. Funny how things turn out. I had a missed call from Todd the other day.

Who?

Sunil persisted. You don’t remember Todd Campo?

Nope.

Oh, yeah. You wouldn’t know him. He was my roommate right after you left.

Duke didn’t answer.

Sunil said, You can take the room with the red door.

Duke put the crutches in the backseat and raised his eyebrows. What?

Sunil said, The previous owners used it as a vacation rental, but with the downturn, they decided to sell. All the walls are white, but the rooms have colored doors. It’s um… different. Hope you don’t mind it.

Do I look like I care? He closed his eyes and settled into the seat. Whatever.

Sunil leaned into the window. Anyway, mine is the blue one. You take the red one, which is at the end of the corridor to the left. Both are downstairs. I’ll get home by dinnertime. I called Mrs. Brown, our housekeeper, to cook pasta and whatnot. You still like pasta?

Duke nodded. Thanks.

Sunil smiled. I’ve missed you, man! Life here is nice, but it’s too quiet. You can regale me with stories of the Army when I get home. I need some excitement in my life.

Duke stared ahead. I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime.

Chapter 3

In a small town in western India, Inspector Alisha Raj threw open the salon-doors that separated the front of the police station from the Superintendent’s office. The boss’s office felt cool compared to the stifling heat outside. A ceiling fan whirred overhead, and sunlight filtered into the office from large windows, illuminating a massive desk. A plaque displayed the name:

Rajeev Bhatia, Superintendent of Police.

Alisha was still angry with the creep Birju, who had jeered at her while leaving the lock-up. You have no power, he had said.

She had snapped back, But the Superintendent of Police does!

Birju had stroked his jaw. S.P. Bhatia let me out. Ask him!

She stormed into the Office of the Superintendent of Police and now glared at the young man at the desk, the man she loved.

He held a phone to his ear and was frowning as she stood in front of his desk, tapping her foot.

He glanced at her and hung up. "Thanks for barging in, Alisha."

She put her hands