Scripting the Past

By Angelica Kate

Declan lives in the shadows, helping deliver people out of the worst moments of their lives. After his military career ended, he joined a foreign land team putting the most lethal skills in his toolbox to best use, all the while watching over his only family from afar. He wants his sister, Morgan, to enjoy all the best in life, free from the confines of the knowledge of what he does and the evil that threatens their world daily. When his sister's life is unexpectedly jeopardized, though, he will need to break every rule to help find answers to historically altering events that will change his world and cause him to question everything in the pursuit of truth.

 

Alessa has always lived a sheltered life under her parents' overly watchful eye; even after their untimely deaths, she follows their advice to the letter. Avoiding people, technology, and any social interactions, except being her best friend and editor friend Morgan, she maintains the solace she was born into and knew best. When secrets from her parent's past start threatening her, Morgan, she will embark on a journey toward answers with the most brusque, infuriating man she didn't know she would never be able to live without.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angelica Kate
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215622513

Angelica Kate

Angelica Kate writes contemporary romances with strong characters and inspiration to keep the readers coming back for more. She is a lifetime scribbler who has been journaling since an early age and finally parlayed that into more structured storytelling. Angelica loves strong female leads and the men that adore them, despite their scars and baggage. When not writing, she spends time on Florida's sunny shores near her home in Sarasota, FL, with her puppies Tesla and Harley Quinn, her daughters, and a host of kooky amazing friends. TWITTER: @AngelicaKate5 FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/authorangelicakate INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/aknaff12/ Email Angelica directly: [e-mail] HAPPY READING AND CHASING HAPPINESS WHEREVER YOU CHOOSE TO FIND IT!!

Book preview

Prologue

July 13, 2004

Declan felt the piercing pin pricks of consciousness reclaiming him before he forced open his eyes. There wasn’t a muscle, bone, or ligament in his body that didn’t feel as if it had gone brutal rounds in a fight cage with an ultimate warrior. Forcing himself fully alert, he glanced around, trying to piece together the scene before him. Deafening silence caused goose bumps to climb his flesh as he turned to the left and saw only foliage. Turning gingerly to the right, he felt the punch of guilt in his gut as he came face to face with Cael Keim’s death glazed eyes. Compelling himself to shut out his pain, he moved into a crouching position, scanning his surroundings.

Nothing but trees and brush everywhere didn’t help fill in the missing puzzle pieces of what had occurred. No sound, light, or another indicator of an impending reoccurrence of an attack was forthcoming, so he turned his attention to Cael. Declan cataloged every detail for his report later back at headquarters. Both Cael’s legs were fractured through skin and clothing and were lying at grotesque angles. Cael’s left arm was hanging on by tendons and twisted under his back, and the other arm was a bloody, pulpy mess. His throat had been slit, and that was after he had put up a god-awful good fight, evident from the bruises, cuts, and scrapes on his knuckles, face, and other extremities.

Declan rolled his head back and then his shoulders, trying to loosen the stress and pain out of his being. His job was to bring back the missing, no matter the cost to him personally. Luckily, Cael weighed only about a hundred and sixty pounds, relatively small compared to some injured soldiers Declan had lugged out of hellish places early on in his career. As a private contractor, this was only his third assignment, and his boss would want answers. Declan tried concentrating on the events of the last few hours. At first, it made no sense why the attacker had left him alive amid such a vicious attack, but then the picture became clearer with each passing moment.

His research into Cael Keim had fit on a single sheet of copy paper and been squeaky clean compared to some of the characters his company worked with and those he had helped dispatch during his military career. Cael was a good student, recently graduating from high school. Declan had found zero family ties to organized crime or other suspicious background blips during his thorough investigation after being assigned to find and retrieve the young man. Declan’s job was never to judge his assigned individuals, but rather his thorough background checks prepared him for what level of resistance or other entanglements he might find during the commission of his assignment. Last night, whatever had occurred last night was unexpected based on all data collected before the mission and not even fully making sense in his recollections.

He remembered Cael moving low with him, his hand on Declan’s back to reassure that they were in step with each other as they inched through the inky blackness. Suddenly, a movement to his right had arrested Declan’s attention away from their path. Now thinking back, he couldn’t clearly define the features, height, or bearing of the person who had attacked them, but he remembered the feeling of ice-cold dread, unlike anything he had experienced before. Declan understood his job's risks and worked to keep emotion at bay during a mission's execution. This premonition was something that had gone through him like a chill, not internal but external. Cael had pulled out two knives and joined the fight headfirst, causing Declan a moment of pause as he realized there had been something missing in the boy’s background check. The onslaught was just one long blur of turning toward noises in the darkness. He hadn’t been armed with night vision as he sloppily thought they would be free of the trees before total darkness. He wouldn’t make that mistake again; Declan vowed. Blood dripped down his face from cuts inflicted by razor-sharp slashes before he could fully register what happened. When the person did materialize, it was too late. The attacker was at Cael’s throat, and the red necklace detailing complete mission failure was dripping down Cael’s t-shirt.

Declan had bent over Cael with a rag ripped from his backpack, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. Cael’s hand reached inside a pocket and extended a folded white paper to him, marking it in blood as Declan accepted. Cael nodded toward the paper. Declan suspended movement as long as it took to stow the paper in his front pocket and button it inside, appeasing the boy.

You...you...must find her, Cael whispered as his eyes fully glazed over. Declan heard a movement behind him, signaling another attack. At that moment, as he gazed at Cael, he knew this was to be his last assignment. He couldn’t stop someone this good at invisibility.

WHOOSH! He felt himself land flat on his back as something akin to a staff took his knees out and sent his legs flying in the air. Declan recalled closing his eyes and allowing his other senses to take over in the blindness of night. He could hear whoever it was getting closer and knew the direction and speed at which he approached. Quietly unsheathing a blade at his waist, he inhaled and exhaled, closing out all but the noise. Just as he heard the slight whistle indicating a blade headed his direction, he heaved the knife heavenward.

A painful howl and retreating shuffle gave Declan hope he had stopped any further attacks. He waited without the energy it would require fighting someone if he was wrong. He felt his lifeblood draining into the ground beneath him and knew fixing his injuries was most critical. A minute later, he had passed out for good, too late in stopping his loss of blood from claiming him.

Now fully awake, he was grateful for the chill in the night and the packed earth, which was all he could credit with stopping the bleeding while he lay unconscious. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Declan slapped his good cheek to get his attention away from the past and forward to the journey ahead. Remembering the paper, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded object from his pocket. Feeling a stab of guilt at the bloody fingerprint prominently on display on the paper, he opened it and would have whistled if not for fear of someone coming back to finish the task of killing him. The woman whom Cael had referred to with his dying breath was stunning. The charcoal drawing showed high cheekbones, long midnight-black hair, and eyes a startling lavender color that captured the attention and turned up slightly at the corners. It was an artist’s rendering of the woman, but he could appreciate why Cael would want to find her. The woman, if real, had a supermodel bone structure that could bring a mortal man to his knees. Stowing the paper in his pocket, he knew there would be time to mull over it later. For now, his safety and survival must take precedence.

Lugging himself off the ground, Declan noticed much of the vegetation was lying flat, and still not a sound was coming forth from anywhere that he could detect. Using a large roll of bandages and Cael’s clothes, he did the best he could to wrap the young man’s body tightly for transport. One last roll of his shoulders and a glance at his compass and map helped him mentally prepare his plan. Bending, he ignored every screaming muscle and heaved Cael to his shoulder. After a slight adjustment, he started the long hike one foot in front of the other, mind over matter, back to civilization.

Chapter 1

Ten years later

Morgan watched the back of Cedrick Pendergrass exit her office along with his two goons, who masqueraded as ‘business associates’ and curled her lip in disgust. The man had set her on edge just with his presence. She had already informed him by email and over the phone, nothing would make a difference to her client, who refused to take a face-to-face meeting with the new CEO of Square Peg Publishing. Cedrick had just bought the big New York-based publishing house that had publicized and marketed Alessa Roman’s first three books. Morgan had been Alessa’s literary agent for five years now and was on the post-it size list of people the woman ever saw in person. The reclusive author was not much older than her, and their similar backgrounds had given them a common foundation early on in their friendship. The relationship had deepened and flourished over the ensuing years and through their mutually beneficial business arrangement.

Morgan and Alessa had both lost their parents at young ages; each set of parents was murdered, putting them in a unique club of survivors. Unlike Morgan, Alessa didn’t have a family or support network in place and had, after a short foray into the world that ended with a second tragedy, retreated into her home, not venturing out again as far as Morgan was aware. They had met in a writing class when Morgan was a freshman in college. After a few exchanged niceties that had turned into an all-night chat of favorite books and authors, their friendship was born. Two days after the end of the semester, Alessa was with her boyfriend, Tristan Hensel, a fellow student at their university, when he was mysteriously involved in a hit-and-run accident and died in her arms. The following day, Alessa had told Morgan she needed to remain within her house's safety and wasn’t going back out into the world.

Morgan, at first, thought the shock and sadness were getting the better of Alessa’s good judgment, but time had proven her wrong. Over the subsequent years, Morgan visited Alessa often for advice on writing assignments. Their love of journalism had kept them friends, but even after many years, Alessa remained sequestered in her family home. Alessa’s raw writing talent had proven to Morgan that she didn’t possess the talent to write for a career. She found she could help artists like Alessa and still immerse herself in that creative world while making a solid living as a literary agent. When she had pitched the idea to Alessa, she remembered the heated exchange in which the other woman had tried to dissuade her. Finally, after hours of discussion, they had reached a pact. Morgan would represent Alessa’s work with the firm understanding that she would never give away Alessa’s home address or phone number and never allow any public interviews. That was five years ago, and Morgan had meticulously upheld her end of the bargain.

Contracts requiring no personal appearances, interviews, or the like were tough to bring to fruition, but Morgan had persevered. The fact that Alessa’s hauntingly poignant storytelling was a bestselling phenomenon did help that process these days. Her mysterious personal life, which provided fodder for more gossip rag stories than Morgan could track, also helped sell books. Not to say Morgan didn’t field a host of calls and requests for interviews or sit-downs with the author. They were even approached with a movie deal package that would have required a trip to Los Angeles, but Alessa remained tethered to her resolve and her home far from the city. Finally, a movie contract worth million had been inked for her book series and required no personal involvement in exchange for complete freedom by the writers to make changes as called for during adaptation. In the last few months, though, a tide had turned, and the requests' nature became more frequent and demanding. Someone wanting to know specific details about the author, clamoring to see her in person, and in the last month, Cedric Pendergrass had arrived on the scene further to escalate the requests to personal, veiled threats. Morgan had a gut feeling she was missing some piece of a puzzle but couldn’t put her fears into words. It was just an odd feeling of being watched all the time that she tried to quell. She glanced up at the picture of her parents and wished her mom or dad was here to talk with but moved to the next picture, which was of Adeline Boren. She knew Adeline would be waiting at the house with a home-cooked meal and a listening ear.

With a slight grin, she decided to call it a day and make her way home. Tomorrow would bring its own set of worries, and she needed some solid advice. Adeline had been a friend to her mother since they were young girls, and when tragedy struck, Declan and the older lady had reached an agreement. At the time of her parents’ death, her brother, Declan, was already two years into his military career, having enlisted the day he graduated high school. Morgan was only twelve at the time and still required full-time care at home, so Adeline had moved in and filled the gap left by her parents’ demise. Even after she graduated and went on to college, Adeline kept the home fires going. Declan had made as many appearances as his leave allowed, spending every spare moment with Morgan in the early years. He had even made it home for the sham of a trial for Felix LeClair, who had been accused of her parents’ murders five years after the fact. The trial had concluded in a mistrial due to witness tampering and evidence handling concerns, despite evidence conclusively pointing to his guilt. After LeClair was gunned down in the street exiting the courthouse, Declan had left town, and since then, his visits had been few and far between. He was a changed man, and they didn’t talk about anything but her and Adeline’s news when he did visit. He continued to pay Adeline to watch over Morgan and always reassured her he was but a call away should he be needed. Between Adeline’s daily presence and knowing Declan was out there keeping the world safer, she was fortunate when compared to Alessa, who was alone and unsure in her world.

Picking up her bag, Morgan slipped her laptop into it, trying to shake the doldrums she found herself wallowing in. As she slid a folder home, she saw the phone in the side pocket that Declan had given her to call him on if she needed him. Cedric's situation was something she would love to run by him and get his take on, but she refused to be the sniveling little sister crying wolf. She would talk to Adeline and get her advice and maybe even visit Alessa this weekend. She turned around as her senses went on high alert. She felt like someone was again watching her but forcibly put the fanciful thought out of her head. For god’s sake, she was a literary agent, and this wasn’t a spy novel. Slinging her shoulder bag over her body, she made for her office door, needing to distance herself for a while and get some perspective.

Declan finished his workout in the gym, showered, and put on his semi-uniform utility pants, black t-shirt, and boots. He made his way from the back of the building toward the front to where the war room was, along with make-shift workstations. He was always one of the first team members to arrive at the office when there was no imminent threat to be parsed out to and attacked by the group.

At thirty-five, Declan was at least two years senior of all the other members of his tightly knit group and the only one without a family at home. Like his boss Fox Healey, some of them were on their second go-around, but they all preferred to spend every spare moment with those they loved rather than come in early to finish reports or respond to emails. Not Declan.

As he lowered himself into the chair at the station he normally occupied and pulled his laptop out of the bag resting at his feet, powering it up in one smooth motion, he focused on the day ahead. He looked around at the silence and darkness wrapped in tight around him, which was a metaphor for his life these days. He looked up at the board at the back of the room, and half smiled, half grimaced as he took in the clicks. Ten years and 142 saves to his credit should have equaled up the score, but his conscience told him otherwise. The one dark checkmark below the line signaled his single loss in the commission of his job. That and the scar on his soul he had willingly borne for years kept the score forever unbalanced no matter how many people he saved from the clutches of death in this lifetime.

It was that knowledge that ensured he could never walk amongst the innocent, unsuspecting people going about business every day, unaware of the evil individuals who lurked in the shadows. It turned out he was one of those people. He mentally lashed his conscience again, not that he would ever take back that shot that changed the trajectory of his life. He pulled his wallet out and, as he did just before every mission and when moments such as these claimed hold of him, removed the picture of Morgan. The beaming, blonde-haired girl with her innocent gaze staring back at him was worth anything he had to bear to keep her safe. Running his finger over her face, he smiled. She was the tether of humanity that always anchored him from crossing completely into the darkness. He ran into the worst kinds of trouble, hoping someday to earn her forgiveness for a crime she had been a front stage witness to without, he hoped, ever suspecting his hand. If that