Brother's Keeper III_Luke Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  ALSO BY SSK

  CONTACT SSK

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  EPILOGUE

  About Stephanie St. Klaire

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  Stephanie St. Klaire

  Brother’s Keeper III: Luke

  Book Three in the Brother’s Keeper Series

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or other status is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever known, not known or hereafter invented, or stored in any storage or retrieval system, is forbidden and punishable by the fullest extent of the law without written permission of the author.

  EDITOR: Monica Black: Word Nerd Edits

  COVER ARTIST: Alyssa Garcia: Uplifting Designs

  FORMATTING: The SSK Group

  Also By Stephanie St. Klaire’s

  Brother’s Keeper Series

  Brother’s Keeper I: Declan

  Brother’s Keeper II: Liam

  Brother’s Keeper III: Luke

  Brother’s Keeper IV: Dace – Fall 2018

  Brother’s Keeper V: Wylie - 2019

  McKenzie Ridge Series

  Rescued

  Hidden

  Forgotten

  Fearless

  Redemption

  Imperfect Love KW

  Liar

  St. Helena Vineyard KW Series

  Sneaking Up On Love

  Fall Fling

  Visit Stephanie St. Klaire on social media for the latest news and updates:

  Join Stephanie’s private Facebook group: SSK Book Krew

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  To my family for being the reason and purpose behind all that I do.

  To the FBI, Homeland Security, CIA, and every secret agency within the Federal Government – thank you for not picking my ass up after all of the google searches that went into writing this series. I owe you a solid.

  I’m just a laptop toting mom and wife with free time…and a BIG imagination who would look hideous in an orange prison jumpsuit.

  CHAPTER 1

  With her hand covering her mouth to quiet her heavy, quivering breaths and contain the scream edging to get out, Daisy made a decision. Run. It was now, or never.

  With the sound of leather-clad footsteps clicking against the glaring marble floor fading, it was time to go. There had to have been half a dozen men, but they had disappeared into the crowd at the Senator’s mansion, leaving the hallway eerily silent.

  Peering around the recessed mahogany doorway she was ducking behind, Daisy held her breath, needing to confirm the men were indeed gone. Noting the coast was clear, her attention shifted to the half open door a few feet away where events that would change her life forever took place. Murder.

  She couldn’t shake the image of Senator Antonio Martinez’s face when he realized his time on earth was done. She read that expression like a book. A gun was raised, his face paled as his eyes grew wide, losing their color. His jaw had dropped just as the barely-there sound of a bullet cut the air in a high-pitched whoosh before piercing the Senator in the middle of his forehead.

  What originally had been a quick trip to the staff bathroom before switching gears from filling wine glasses to singing as the evening entertainment quickly turned her into a witness to the most heinous experience of her life. She watched a man take his last breath. The worst part – she didn’t know who killed him.

  Flanking Senator Martinez on either side, she recalled two men, both Hispanic with thick, heavy accents and faces that would forever be engrained to her memory. Daisy didn’t recognize them, and identifying the rest would nearly be impossible as they stood with their backs to the door while the shouting match that had caught her attention to begin with ensued. That voice, though – she’d never forget the sound of the man’s voice who pulled the trigger.

  “You chose the wrong side, Senator,” the man said in a deep baritone that carried a subtle southern twang. “It pains me to do this, but I’m sure you understand.”

  A chill raced down her spine. The choice of words was as evil as the deed. Patronizing. Sympathetic, yet accusing. Like the Senator forced the hand of his murderer, leaving him no choice but to take his life. There she stood, in the doorway across from the man’s final resting place, searching for courage. Silently, she counted to three, then five, and on ten, she launched, sprinting for the heavy craftsman door facilitating her escape.

  Just as she reached the door, a sound came from behind her. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw a man standing in the doorway of the dead Senator’s office, looking right at her. She saw him move, but didn’t stick around to see where or why. She ran, faster than she knew she could. Across the lush, meticulously landscaped grounds, disappearing in the shadows just beyond the expansive lawn. When she heard the door across the property open, she knew – he was coming for her.

  It had paid off, coming in early and helping her best friend, Cally Stark, set up the party. The Senator’s assistant had given them a tour of the grounds, so they would know where to set up, where to stage their staff, and every staff entrance on and off the property. Ducking behind the arborvitaes, thick from age, she forced herself through the bulky branches and spiderwebs, seeking her escape.

  Daisy found the wrought iron spindles posing as a barrier between the tall brick pillars. As petite as she was, she couldn’t get through the narrow poles, so she climbed, using the wall of arborvitae as leverage to hoist herself over. It wasn’t graceful, but it was effective. Short of her black dress ripping as it caught on a part of the fence, she came out with barely a scratch or bruise.

  Quick to regain her bearings, she ran west. The staff had been expected to park several blocks away from the home where the valet was stowing the guest’s vehicles. An attendant with a golf cart shuffled staffers and valets back and forth to the mansion. Going over it in her head, Daisy formulated a plan: get to her old rusted Honda, say a little prayer it started on the first try, get the hell out of there undetected, sans headlights, and never look back.

  It was in that moment she realized everything really did happen for a reason. Like the day the key broke off in her ignition, leaving it ever ready to start with a quick turn. Reasons for the Senator’s murder and her presence during such would go undecided. Besides, how was there purpose and reason in murder?

  Catering trucks and service vehicles lining the street indicated she’d almost made it to the rows and rows of parked cars. Lungs burning and feet aching, it was only then she realized she had lost her shoes at some point, and that dewy little droplets hitting her chest were from the endless flow of tears racing down her face. Only a few more feet.

  I can do it, she told herself.

  With the old primer grey Honda staring back at her from the front row parki
ng spot she’d snagged in sight, relief settled in. The street was dimly lit, but the lot was dark and easy to disappear in should she have car trouble

  Just as she approached a black florist van to her right, the side door slid open and a man dressed head-to-toe in black grabbed her in one fierce swoop. With one hand around her waist and the other covering her mouth, he pulled her in quickly. Daisy struggled to fight him, to get away, but he was too strong. Tossed to the far side of the van, the man slammed the door shut, sealing her fate. As it turned out, she would never find out if that old beat up Honda was going to let her down that night or do her solid by starting.

  “Wh-Who are you? Please…I didn’t see anything. Just let me go,” Daisy bargained, her voice barely audible. “I w-won’t tell anyone.”

  “Won’t tell anyone? You just said you didn’t see anything.”

  “Right!” she chirped. “I-I didn’t. Not a thing. I wasn’t even here tonight. I was home with my dog. And you’re really big…and scary.”

  She paused, eyes filling with emotion as her new reality sunk in. “My dog. Oh my God. My dog. She’s at my house, locked in. I-I’m never going to see her again, am I?”

  Fresh tears quickly turned to hysterical sobs. “Sh-She’s going to think I abandoned her. Just like her last owner. I rescued her.”

  The man tilted his head, casting an odd look at Daisy, unsure how to address her emotional state. “Look…”

  “No. You look. She’s special. You may be big and scary, but surely you have a heart. She’s…high strung. Anxious,” she cried. “She needs me – or someone who will be understanding and patient with her.”

  “I wonder where she gets it?” the man said over his shoulder to a blonde woman in the driver seat Daisy just noticed.

  “What’s wrong with her?” the blonde woman asked. “Is this one crazy or something?”

  “Shock?” the man responded with a shrug. “Some people act…odd when exposed to certain…trauma.”

  “And my Gran. Oh my God, I’m going to die before my Gran. This is going to kill her.” Fear had a way of making a person so frantic, they focused on less significant things like what one’s dog would think of them when they didn’t come home from their eventual murder.

  “You just killed an old lady. You’re going to kill me, then she and my dog will have no one…so she’ll die too. Eventually!”

  “We’d never kill an old lady,” the blonde defended. “Not on purpose.”

  “If you’d just…” Again, the man was unsuccessful at getting a word in edge wise.

  “I can’t believe this is happening. This is my life? Of course it is – well, the end of it. I’m going to die, at the hands of a…a…florist?”

  While the man reached behind him, rifling through a black duffle bag on the seat next to him, the blonde went for the glove compartment and pulled out a gun.

  “This is it. Okay, this is it. A gun. Big scary guy – you’ll probably be the one to do it. I thought maybe a brick around my ankles and deep lake, or long drawn out torture, like the movies. But a gun. Quick and easy, not so clean, but gets the job done in a hurry and I won’t…suffer,” Daisy continued to rant, eyes focused on the blonde and her gun. “It never fails. I had to pee. I hadn’t had anything to drink, I’d already been several times, but once it was time to get on stage and sing…I had to pee. How was I supposed to know across from the staff restroom – because heaven forbid we pee with rich people – there would be a…a…murder. Oh my God, I still have to pee.”

  A sharp pain in the side of her neck seemed to be the only thing to silence Daisy. Grasping at the site of the pain, she turned to see the big scary man holding a hypodermic needle – an empty hypodermic needle.

  “Lethal injection. Poison. Makes…sense.” And that’s when the world went black for Daisy King.

  “Jesus, what were you thinking grabbing the gun?” the man said to the blonde.

  “You went for the needle! You saw how she was acting, can you imagine what would’ve happened if she’d seen that thing? I did you a favor – that needle wasn’t going in without the distraction. You’re welcome. Now, can we get out of here?” she fired back while pulling her seatbelt across her lap.

  “Time to call the boys. Make sure they got out of the mansion,” he said, grabbing his phone from his pocket.

  “Hey, honey,” the man said into the phone, earning a snicker from his partner. In their line of work, they learned quickly that you never knew who was listening – or how. It was their own special kind of smartass code. “It’s Big Daddy. Did you guys get on the road okay?”

  After a long pause, he nodded as if the other party could see him, “Okay, sounds good. You’ll want to stop and pick up Grandma and the dog. Can’t leave them behind.”

  By Grandma and dog, he meant Daisy’s Grandma and dog – it seemed he did have a heart. Or he just didn’t leave loose ends. It was time to clean up the mess that had been made and make it look like none of them were ever there, including Daisy.

  “All right, meet you at the river house,” he said, indicating their rendezvous point. “Bye, honey.”

  “My brother is going to hate you for that.” The woman chuckled.

  “Your brother is the one who let her get away.” He nodded to an unconscious Daisy. “He gets to take care of the old lady and the dog.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Glaring rays of light danced on Daisy’s face, waking her with what felt like the worst hangover ever. Grabbing her head in an effort to stop the pounding, she struggled to open her heavy lids and see what was so offensively bright. An open window with white, gauze-like curtains billowed in the light cool breeze as they let in the source of her assault. Her memory kicked in, and she shot out of the bed she was in, instantly on the defensive.

  Big mistake. The room spun, her head exploded, and her stomach rolled. She hadn’t had any alcohol the night before and didn’t remember the last thing she ate. Daisy sat at the edge of the bed, holding her head, willing the tight, vice-like pain to ease. Where was she, and how had she gotten there? Events from the previous evening flashed through her head like a highlight reel in reverse: the man in the van with the blonde woman, the needle in her neck, running from the Senator’s mansion. The dead Senator. It was like a bad movie playing on repeat, haunting her every thought.

  If there was anything good she could pull from everything taunting her mind and challenging her emotions, it was that she was not dead. They didn’t kill her. But why?

  There would be time to answer all the questions at the forefront of her aching mind. Now, she needed a plan. She still had a chance to get herself out of this mess and run like hell to the nearest police station.

  From the corner of her eye, the contents of the bedside table caught her attention. Still in a fog, it took her a minute to catch up with her own thoughts and catch on. There was a bottle of water, a small plate with a few pastries, and a white business card sitting there, waiting for her attention. Afraid the water may be poisoned, and pastries tainted, she elected to forgo the food and drink, despite the sudden cottonmouth she wished to quench.

  Perhaps this was all part of the game and her demise – torture – through various forms of poison. Rolling her eyes at her own dramatic thoughts, Daisy made a silent vow to stop watching gritty crime shows. Especially since her life had managed to become one, and it was less than entertaining.

  When she read the business card and its significance settled in, she didn’t know whether she should have felt relieved or more frightened. Carter Landry, US Attorney. Scrawled below the name in small, neat handwriting were the words: Big Scary Guy. A US Attorney – that meant things like the White House, Capitol Hill, Washington DC. Finding herself in the hands of one of the land’s highest powers meant whatever she witnessed must have been more than an assassination. Daisy wasn’t an expert, but she didn’t think it was common practice for a US Attorney to hide her versus going to some sort of facility – whatever the federal equivalent to a police stati
on was.

  Slow to her feet, unwilling to make the same mistake twice and tempt vertigo, she made her way to the window. Outside, she saw a balcony-like deck resting above a tree-lined river. From her vantage point, there didn’t seem to be any other homes around them.

  “A river house,” she whispered. “Why does that sound like it should mean something to me?”

  Figuring the pastries and water were indeed safe – he was a federal officer of the court, after all – she grabbed a scone and the bottle before making her way out of the room in search for more answers. The long hall led to an open space of rustic charm with windows all around, boasting stunning views of the surrounding wilderness. There was a man and woman standing with their backs to Daisy just outside the open sliding glass door, each with a steaming coffee mug in hand.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” the blonde said without turning in Daisy’s direction. “Have you calmed down, or are you going to pick up where you left off last night?”

  The man, Carter, Daisy assumed, chuckled before turning her way. “Ignore her, Daisy. Sheridan’s not very nice until she’s had a few gallons of coffee.”

  “You’re…Carter.” A statement, not a question. “US Attorney, Carter…Landry?”

  “She can read,” the woman chided, her back still turned to Daisy.

  Carter gave the woman a sharp look before turning his attention to Daisy. With a warm smile that lightened his hard, chiseled features, he suggested, “Let’s go inside, have a seat, and…talk. You up for that?”

  With a nod, Daisy made her way to a nearby sofa and sat, pulling her legs under her. With her pastry and water on the side table, she grabbed the throw pillow to her side and hugged it for comfort. Though she knew she was probably safe – there was no guarantee she was – she’d seen enough of those crime shows to know even the good guys can be bad.