Evidence of Secrets – excerpt

About the Book

Evidence of Secrets

Laura Clark’s dream came true when she opened a bistro and fulfilled her passion for cooking. And even though her father abandoned her family, she still dreams of marrying a loving husband and having kids. But running Salt & Sea means she has no time for romance, let alone a family—especially when strange events start plaguing her at the restaurant.

Hank Peterman doesn’t hesitate to face danger head-on. His job at KnightGuard Security fulfills a promise he made to himself after a traumatic childhood experience. But after watching his father marry and divorce three gold diggers and being betrayed himself, the one risk he can’t take is falling in love.

As problems at the bistro take a sinister turn, Laura turns to KnightGuard Security for protection. Hank is assigned to her case. As a mysterious figure threatens her livelihood and safety, Laura’s pride and Hank’s protective nature clash in spite of their smoldering attraction. Can they work together to foil a villain determined to take everything Laura values?

 

Chapter 1

“Read ’em and weep, suckers,” hollered Hank Peterman as he threw his cards on the table. The other guys groaned and tossed in their cards.

“About time you won something,” said Danny Knight.

“Smart-ass.” Hank smiled and glanced over at his best friend.

Danny was laughing again and content now that he had settled down with his wife, Hailey. The drama of finding Hailey’s sister Melanie was over, and Melanie was getting the help she needed for her addiction.

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Although it seems that I lose more money playing poker than if I were betting on the horses,” said Hank.

It was about time. Hank seemed to lose money every month when the guys got together for poker, even with a winning hand. Go figure.

Hank stood and started collecting the pot. “When are Joe and Claire getting back from New York?”

“Oh, they’ll be back next week,” said Mark Stone. “Claire missed her parents and wanted to see them before she gets too big. Joe wasn’t about to let her go by herself.”

“Can’t blame him. I’m glad they took time off. When’s the baby due?”

“Four months,” said Mark.

“Joe is making sure Claire sticks close to him, especially after she was kidnapped,” said Danny. He grabbed his beer and took a long gulp. “I’m not sure Claire appreciates having him hover so much.”

“Hell, after what happened, if that were my woman, I’d never let her out of the house,” said Hank. Sam and Claire’s recent abduction had shaken KnightGuard Security. Luckily, Mark and Joe found them before Chrissie Thorn killed them. Although Sam had things mostly under control.

“You’re in luck. You don’t have a woman to worry about,” said Seth Bowman.

“Yeah? Neither do you, asshole.” Hank pocketed his winnings and tossed his beer bottle in the trash. He never lacked female companionship. The key was sincerity—he genuinely liked women. But not to marry. Hank had been down that road, and it had blown up in his face big-time. Thank fuck he dodged that bullet.

Seth started laughing. “Well, we have something in common.”

“Hey, are the renovations on the fish camp finished?” asked Hank. “I was thinking of taking a cabin for a week.”

“The guys have finished. Let me know when you’re free, and I’ll reserve one for you.”

Hank stood and pushed his chair under the table. “Good enough. Okay, losers, I’m off. Big job tomorrow, and I need to get up early.”

He saluted the group and headed to where he’d parked his black Grand Cherokee.

Hank asked his media system to play music of his favorite country singer, Johnny Cash, and for the fifteen-minute drive home, he relaxed and allowed himself to rehash the night’s events.

The poker game was the highlight of Hank’s month. It was relaxing to chill out and spend the evening with good friends.

Tomorrow’s job required him to concentrate on protecting a movie star who wanted to buy a mansion in Black Pointe. It would be an easy gig. Not all jobs were, not that it mattered.

Danny brought him on board to KnightGuard Security after they left the Army. Hank was impressed by Sam Knight when he met the small, tenacious woman. He admired her dedication and mission to help others, values close to his heart.

Hank parked his car in the on-site garage, walked up to the glass front door of his building, and punched in his code.

He walked through the doors into a large reception area. On one side was a paneled wall with a cluster of mailbox slots. A black leather sofa and a large potted tree occupied the other. In the back, by the elevator, was a large brown console desk with a computer and television.

“Hey, Manny. How ya doing?” asked Hank.

Manny looked up from his computer and smiled. “Living the dream.”

Hank laughed. That was Manny’s standard answer every time he asked.

“Seriously, though, everything’s quiet, just the way I like it,” Manny said.

Manny was a friend from the service who needed a job and was a perfect fit for the building. People misjudged Manny because of his slight build. Big mistake. Hank knew Manny was more than proficient in self-defense and a top-notch sharpshooter. No one would get into the building to harm the residents and live to talk about it. Not that security was an issue in this part of town. But the size of Hank’s personal wealth plus his concern for the welfare of his renters warranted it.

Hank inserted the elevator key to his penthouse. The five-story brick building he owned overlooking the water was money well spent. He could decide who he wanted living there.

There were two units Hank had combined for his personal space on the top floor and two nine-hundred-square-foot apartments on each of the four floors below. Each had a balcony overlooking the water.

The eight units housed a couple of single women, two couples working hard to get ahead, and several older women. Manny had an apartment and worked the front desk in exchange for rent. One apartment was empty since the last tenant left.

There wasn’t much Hank could control in life, but offering people down on their luck a safe place to live and pay a reasonable rent gave him a sense of purpose and pleasure. The rents weren’t so low that someone would feel they were a charity case or so high they kept out people who needed help. It was a win-win, and they were quiet neighbors.

The substantial trust Hank had inherited from his mother paid for the building and its upkeep; he lived modestly, so his salary covered his living expenses.

He placed the money his father had given to him in a trust that he touched only to help nonprofits. His father helped no one unless he got something in return. That wasn’t Hank. He’d seen too many good people falling by the wayside when all they needed was a little help.

Hank opened the door to his condo, turned on the light switch, and instantly felt at peace. The front door led into a large living room overlooking the riverfront.

A decorator chose the grays, navy blues, and browns that created the calm interior. She was a looker and offered him several invitations to go out with her. While he was tempted, he hadn’t—it wasn’t a good business practice to have sex with an employee.

The living room had comfy furniture and a big-ass flat screen. There were modern appliances in the eat-in kitchen and three bedrooms, one of which he used as an office, the other as a guest room.

Hank grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened the sliding doors to the balcony overlooking the river.

The twinkling lights of Black Pointe and the muted voices of people at the Riverwalk restaurants carried over the water. Hank never tired of the view. Hints of barbecue and charred beef wafted in the breeze. His mouth watered, and then his stomach rumbled. He took a slug of beer.

Only two Army buddies knew he owned this building, since Hank never invited anyone over—he valued his privacy. Danny was one and Logan Reed the other. He didn’t need the money he won at poker tonight, and didn’t need to work—ever. Work gave him a sense of worth and the money he gave away a sense of purpose.

And life was good.

The occasional nagging thought that something meaningful was missing in his life came and went like the river’s ebb and flow.

Chapter 2

Ryan Hall sat at his late father’s Louis XIV mahogany desk and stared at the pile of papers strewn across the leather top. He’d already separated them into categories.

His dad died a month ago, and Ryan finally felt up to going through his father’s personal papers. Alone.

Rocco, Dad’s right-hand man and enforcer, offered to help, but these were very personal papers. Ryan didn’t need help. If his dad wanted anyone looking at them, he wouldn’t have hidden them. Besides, Rocco would report back to the big boss, who would come a-calling. Ryan didn’t want anyone to come a-calling, especially the big boss.

Ryan checked to see if the door to the study was locked. Yes. He drew the heavy damask drapes.

He turned on the green, antique Tiffany Turning Leaf green table lamp, a gift to his father from an associate.

First up, he reached for the stack of papers labeled “donations.” He noticed the huge donations made out to the prestigious college Ryan attended. So that was the minimum dollar value to ensure your child got into the school. He never knew, and never asked. There were no legacy preferences in his family. He was the first in the family to graduate from college.

He could have gotten into most schools with his grades, but Ryan had his heart set on going to Harvard.

Besides meeting the upcoming who’s who of business, it would be a great experience, and his father agreed.

Ryan’s degree in business administration opened many doors for both of them. Working in the private sector and having access to movers and shakers not only helped legitimize his father’s business, but helped Ryan get ahead. He could live comfortably for the rest of his life on what he saved.

His dad used to say one could never have enough money or power. It was true. Money was the tool that bought power and respect. Dad had plenty of money and power, and if he didn’t get respect one way, he got it another.

Ryan picked up another stack of papers. Organization charts. Charts of the who’s who in the organization—who ran the front end, which businesses laundered money, who they called for the dirty work, and who the enforcers were. This information was pure gold.

Dad shared little with him about being in the mob. He didn’t mind having Ryan help him with personal projects, but for some strange reason, he wanted to keep Ryan out of the everyday mob business. However, Ryan knew a lot without being told. From the bulked-up bodyguards with the strange nicknames to the sometimes shady deals Ryan helped with and the all-hours-of-the-day meetings his father attended; it was clear what his dad was into.

He reached for a small white envelope. Unsealed it and found a safe deposit key. Ryan’s father had him co-sign at a bank miles from Atlanta years ago. In the next couple of days, he’d visit the bank and make a withdrawal. He wondered how much money was in it now.

Ryan moved the pile aside, and a small brown envelope slipped out and fell on the floor. Ryan bent over to pick it up, then reached for the letter opener to slit it open. Old records fell out.

He furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin as he picked up the papers to read.

A yellowed letter from the early 1920s addressed to, hmmm, Ryan couldn’t read the name. It described a cache of bearer bonds and cash in a speakeasy in Black Pointe. All left over from the old rum-running days.

Why had his father saved this? Was the building even around? If it were, and if the cash and bonds had never been recovered, they would be worth in the millions of dollars and be untraceable in today’s market. Ryan’s pulse quickened as he thought about all that money.

Ryan turned on his computer and searched the city records for the address.

Yes! It had seen several owners and converted into different companies, but it was still standing. The assessment card showed an upscale bistro, Salt & Sea, was in the location now. The owner was Laura Clark.

Ryan searched social media for the restaurant and owner. Lots of interior shots of the bistro came up, including several pictures of a gorgeous, tall beauty with chestnut-brown hair and brown eyes. Laura Clark appeared in the kitchen in her chef’s uniform, in the dining room with regular clothes, shopping at the farmers’ market, and holding some yummy-looking food. Social media was a wonderful thing.

Ryan’s heart did a little jig. Was it possible they had never discovered the secret room after all these years? Those old-timers were pretty clever at hiding doors and rooms way back then.

The money his dad made for the mob went to Mickey “Mouse” Lucas, who ran the family. Not that anyone called Mickey “Mouse” to his face. Mickey preferred the nickname “Fingers.” He enjoyed breaking them.

Ryan had a good amount of money saved, but a windfall like this would allow him to go anywhere in the world.

Do anything he wanted.

Get out from under the mob’s control because once you or your family were in it, you never could leave—alive.

Finding the treasure would make him a free man and a powerful one. If, and only if, he stayed under the mob’s radar. If they found him or knew he’d taken off with a boatload of cash, fingers wouldn’t be the only thing broken on his body.

Was Laura married? He’d ask around. If not, there was no downside in pursuing her and getting information. If she was married, the same principle applied. In his experience, married women liked attention too. And if nothing else, Ryan was very attentive.

Ryan finished going through the papers and put them back into a secret safe his father had installed into the floor under the handmade 19th-century Feraghan rug. Another gift from a customer who valued his life more than the antique rug.

In time, he would move the information and cash to a safe deposit box. It was not information anyone else needed to read.

Ryan walked over to the built-in bar, grabbed a cut crystal glass and poured himself a healthy slug of his father’s favorite single malt scotch, Springbank 21. At a price of over $2800 a bottle, Ryan could afford as many bottles as he wished if he found the cash and bonds. He brought it to the sofa, sat, and swirled the liquid nectar in the glass. Sniffed. Exhaled. Sniffed again—the scent of money smelled sweet. The unique scent of fruits and peat tickled his nose. Its rich, creamy texture caressed his palate. Life was good.

However, before Ryan could get to Black Pointe, Florida, locate Salt & Sea, pursue Laura Clark, and/or convince her to sell him the bistro, then find the hidden panel and the cash, he had a few loose ends he needed to address here in Atlanta.

Then it would be time to get busy.

Later today, he’d make a call to the lawyers in Black Pointe that his father trusted and used and ask them to get more information on the bistro and Laura’s situation. He already had a sense of the bistro’s value from the town assessor’s office. By having the lawyer query Laura, he’d get a sense on how receptive Laura was to sell without exposing himself. If she accepted the offer, he’d come forward. But he needed to be careful and not have his name on any documents. He could hide behind an LLC. People did it all the time when they didn’t want their names mentioned. The last thing Ryan wanted was to have the mob find out about the bistro and get control of it. They were always looking for places to launder money.

There was plenty of money available in his account so paying Laura wouldn’t be a problem.

If Laura didn’t take the offer, then he had a woman to potentially woo and a fortune to find. And hopefully disappear before anyone in the mob got wind of what he was doing.