False Security Read online

  FALSE SECURITY

  Angie Martin

  This edition published by Indie World Publishing & Author Services via Kindle

  Text © Angie Martin 2013

  © Angie Ross 2004

  ISBN: 9781301378739

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover Art by: Book Cover Machine

  To learn more about author Angie Martin, visit her website at www.angiemartinbooks.com

  Indie World Publishing & Author Services

  P.O. Box 819

  Dewey, AZ 86327

  www.indieworldpub.com/

  This work of fiction contains adult situations that may not be suitable for children under eighteen years of age. Recommended for mature audiences only.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Part Three

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  More by Angie Martin

  About Angie Martin

  One Last Thing…

  Dedication:

  For Kailar and Christian: dreams are designed to come true.

  Acknowledgement:

  Thank you to my wonderful husband, for putting up with me while in the writing zone. Thank you to my mother for your continuing love and support. Thanks to all my awesome beta readers, especially Becky Golba for all your hard work. A very special thank you to Andrea Denning, for all your support, and for all the memories: you’ll always be my favorite character.

  Prologue

  She ran.

  Jumping over fallen branches, avoiding small craters embedded in the black forest floor, she pushed her way through the dense woods. Trees hiding in the dark recesses of night jumped out and scratched her arms with their sharp fingernails. Though the forest seemed to prevent her from moving forward, she couldn’t stop running. To stop could mean death. Or worse.

  She stepped in a hole not large enough for her shoe and fire blazed in her ankle. The pain seared up her leg and she lost her footing. Her black duffel bag flew off her arm and into the dirt and leaves. Her back crashed against the damp ground and her teeth came down on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out. She rolled to her side and her elbow raked a rock as she grabbed for her ankle.

  No matter how sprained her ankle or broken her body, she needed to keep moving. She turned onto her stomach and forced herself to her knees. She gave a half-hearted attempt to stand up, but only managed to fall forward onto her hands. Her fingers lifted to her cheek and dirt smudged across her skin, mixing with the tears she tried to wipe away.

  A disjointed voice stirred in her mind. The same voice had plagued her since the beginning of her journey. Go back, it tempted. You can go back right now and everything will be fine. You will never get away with this.

  But she had to get away with it, despite what the voice told her. No sane person would return to hell.

  She pushed herself to her knees again, but hesitated at the sound of an unseen owl. The night creatures of the forest lurked all around and she had to move fast to avoid any unpleasant encounters. She extracted a penlight from her pocket and illuminated her watch. Too late to go back. She had been gone for a few hours. They were already searching for her.

  Reaching back into her pocket, she pulled out a compass and read the needle under the glow of the penlight. Facing east and still on course, she clicked off the penlight, and stared into the vast forest in front of her. She ignored the steady throb in her ankle and the raw, burning pain in her back and coaxed herself to her feet. She tucked the penlight and compass back into her pocket, and used her long, black sleeves to dry the remaining tears on her face.

  She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. In the shadows of her mind, fingers danced over the ivory keys of a grand piano. The beautiful melody wrenched her soul. Her eyes flew open, erasing the picture from her head, but not the song. Raising her eyes to the sky, she said a silent prayer.

  She ran.

  Part One

  Chapter One

  “What happened to my office?”

  Mark Jacobson looked up from his paperwork. His older brother, Greg, stood in the doorway clenching a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in his fist. “It’s my office, too,” Mark said.

  Greg stepped into the room and looked around. “What did you do in here?” he asked. “I only left for two weeks.”

  Mark glanced at the new file cabinet resting in the corner. On top, a shuddering black fan paused before rotating in the opposite direction. The noisy fan did little to rid the air of fumes from the fresh coat of off-white paint on the walls.

  He looked back at Greg. “I couldn’t take the chipped paint and rusty file cabinet another day.”

  Greg leaned against the edge of the desk and fought the child safety lid on the bottle. “All I wanted was to come back to my office the way I left it, but you couldn’t resist using my absence as a chance to paint, coul
d you?” He tilted the bottle and took a large swallow.

  “Two weeks on a beach in Florida and you’re complaining already,” Mark said. “If this is the way you come back from vacation, you’re not allowed to go anymore. I hope Anna had a better time than you.”

  Greg wiped pink residue off his lips with the back of his hand. “Anna’s pregnant.”

  Mark jumped out of his chair. “That’s great!”

  Greg grunted, and stared at the wall.

  “Aren’t you excited? You’ve been trying for a year now.”

  “Fifteen months and I’m excited, but I’m also scared out of my mind and sick. Very, very sick. Maybe we didn’t think this through all the way when we said we wanted kids.” He threw his hands up. “And she wants two more after this one!”

  Mark smiled at his brother. Though rooted in childhood experiences with their father, Greg’s physical features exacerbated his concerns for fatherhood. A string of freckles and the red of too much Florida sun traveled across his crooked nose, while blond kisses of sun tried to hide his lifeless, brown hair. With blue eyes deep-seated in his long face, Greg could be mistaken for their father, a similarity Greg abhorred.

  Ten years separated the brothers in age, so Greg had taken the brunt of their father’s disdain for children. Their father never laid a hand on either boy, not even for the occasional well-deserved spanking. Their mother handled all the discipline in the house, as well as the minimal amount of love afforded them. When home, their father managed to speak only a few words to either Greg or Mark. His truck-driving career had him on the road more days than not, but when physically present at home with his family, the rest of him remained on the road.

  The emotional absence of their father left its toll on Greg, who took on a paternal role after Mark’s birth. Mark tried once again to assure Greg the resemblance to their father stopped with his physical similarities. “You’ll be a great dad. You did a wonderful job raising me.”

  Greg glared at him. “Oh, yes,” he said, waving his hand around the renovated office. “I did a great job with my brother, the neat freak.”

  Mark frowned, but did not take the comments to heart. Greg’s mind focused on Anna and their unborn child, and not on Mark’s hard work. “I thought the office looked good,” he mumbled.

  “You don’t like the office, Greg?” James McCormick shuffled through the door, clenching a greasy fast food bag at his side. In need of a tailor’s artful hands, his work uniform of black pants and a red shirt hung off his tall, wiry frame. Even his head appeared oversized in comparison to his body, as if it belonged to another person. “Mark and I did a great job painting the office last weekend,” James said. “No spills or anything.”

  Greg groaned and took another large gulp of the antacid. “I don’t like things changing when I’m gone. It’s too disconcerting for an old man who’s fixed in his ways.”

  “It didn’t change that much,” James said. He tossed the fast food bag on the desk in front of Mark. “You owe me $4.89. I drank your soda on the way here, so I took a couple bucks off the bill for you.”

  Mark wondered for the hundredth time why he ever bothered asking James to bring him dinner.

  James scratched at his Irish red goatee, a stark contrast to his messy mop of curly, brown hair. “By the way, Sarah wants me to tell you she’s here.”

  Mark’s eyes lit up and his breath caught in his throat. “Sarah’s here or she’s here?”

  “She’s here.”

  Greg’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Who’s here?”

  Mark combed his fingers through his disheveled hair. “How do I look?” He drew the front of his shirt up to his nose and sniffed, grateful to find the scent of his cologne still lingering after a long day at work.

  “I guess you look okay,” Greg said.

  Mark shot out the office door and into the bookstore. He slowed his pace at the first row of books and smiled at a passing customer. He swung a hard right at the self-help section and turned left at the romance novels.

  His heart raced at the sight of her standing in the mystery section. Bending over to see a title on one of the lower shelves, her chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders. He maneuvered his way around another row of books so he could approach her from behind.

  “Something I can help you with, ma’am?” he asked.

  Rachel Thomas whirled around, one hand on her chest and the other clasping a book. A relieved smile crept over her lips. “You scared me.”

  “Oh hi, Rachel,” he said, feigning surprise. “I didn’t know it was you. How are you today?”

  “I’m good. I came in to find another book.” She held up the book for him to see.

  “You finished the other one already? You just bought it yesterday.”

  “It was hard to put it down.”

  “Glad to hear it. Are you looking for anything in particular this evening, or do you want something similar to the last one?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m getting kind of tired of the cheesy, Hollywood endings.”

  “Yeah, happy endings always bring me down,” he said. He reached out and took the book from her. Studying the title, he said, “Then you won’t like this one. In fact, it’s not a good book to begin with, let alone one to satisfy your sophisticated tastes in literature.”

  Rachel laughed. “Then I’m glad you came along to save me from a horrific night of reading.”

  “Anything for my favorite customer.” He moved beside her and replaced the book on the shelf. He scanned the titles until he found the one he wanted. Pulling it off the shelf, he glanced at the back, and handed her the book. “This one should do it. The author has a similar style to the last one you read, but the ending should appease your ill will toward all the innocent characters. It’s also the start of a four book series, so if you like it, then you’ll be busy for at least four days at your reading rate.”

  Rachel laughed again and pink crept into her cheeks. “Thanks, Mark,” she said, and started toward the register.

  He fell in step beside her. “Aren’t you going to read the back and make sure it’s what you want?”

  Rachel glanced at him with a beautiful, yet timid smile. “The last several books you’ve recommended have been great. I don’t think I’ll have any problems with this one.”

  “Good to know I’ve been able to help.”

  Sarah Landers, his store manager, stood behind the counter, writing up the work schedule for the next two weeks. She pushed her glasses up on her nose, and continued with the schedule. Mark approached from the center aisle so he could get her attention. When she looked up, Mark caught her eye and gave her a signal with his expression to shoo her away.

  Sarah looked off in another direction. “I’ll be right there, sir,” she called to an unseen customer. She scurried away from the register, her long ponytail bouncing against the back of her neck. Over the past two weeks, Mark made sure Sarah knew to give him every opportunity alone with Rachel, even if it meant making up excuses to leave the area.

  Mark rang up the sale and took the ten-dollar bill Rachel offered, while keeping her engaged in small talk. He stalled by opening a roll of pennies, despite having more than enough change in the register to give her.

  After placing the change in her open hand, he squashed his jumping nerves. “I’d like to hear more of your thoughts on the last book. Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee after I get out of here tonight.”

  Her smile faded, and she fumbled with transferring the change from her hand to her purse. “I, uh...” She picked up the book from the counter. “I don’t think I should.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you have a boyfriend.”

  “I’m not seeing anyone,” she said, “but I don’t think it’s such a good idea to have coffee with you.” She gave him a weak smile, her wide emerald eyes warm and sincere. “I’m sorry.”

  He stared after her as she walked away. The ding from the bell on the front door rang out, drivin
g her rejection home.

  “Great,” he said under his breath. He probably managed to lose one of their regular customers along with a little bit of pride.

  Mark never flirted with customers, but he couldn’t ignore the initial spark when he met Rachel, and their chemistry intensified every time she walked into the store. He frowned and sauntered back to his office. The attraction must have been one-sided.

  James reclined in a chair next to Greg, feet propped up on Mark’s desk. “I can’t believe Greg knocked Anna up,” he said. He swiped a pen off the desk and inserted the barrel end into his mouth.

  “Anna’s my wife,” Greg said. “You can’t call it knocking her up.” He scowled at James, who chewed on the pen like it was his last meal. “Throw the pen away after you’re done eating it, please.”

  James shrugged. “Of course.” Turning to Mark, he said, “So, how’d it go?”

  Mark walked around the desk and collapsed into his chair. “I bombed,” he said, dropping his elbows to the desk. He slumped over and his chin landed in his hands.

  “Why didn’t you ask her out?” Greg asked.

  “I did ask her. She turned me down.” Mark grabbed the Pepto-Bismol bottle and removed the lid. He grimaced as the chalky liquid coursed down his throat.

  “James says she moved to town a few weeks ago,” Greg said. “How come it’s taken you so long to ask her out? Usually you’re done with them by now.”

  James spoke before Mark could answer. “I told you already. He’s acting weird like that.”

  Mark held his breath and tried to remain patient with James’s attempt to bait him. For the past two weeks, James taunted him almost to the point of humiliation because in Mark’s eyes, only one female now resided in all of Wichita, the largest city in Kansas.

  “He hasn’t gone out with any girl since she came along,” James continued. “He even broke off his date with the chick that works at the deli over there.” He pulled his feet off the desk and stood up. He returned the gnarled pen to the desk organizer.