The Marked Star

by Vicki Hinze

  The Marked Star

  Shadow Watchers

  Vicki Hinze

  The Marked Star

  Copyright © 2016 by Vicki Hinze

  All rights are reserved. All characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or via any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or via any information storage and retrieval system without the express written permission of the copyright holder and publisher.

  Published by Magnolia Leaf Press

  Niceville, Florida, USA

  Print Edition Published by Magnolia Leaf Press

  2018. ISBN: 978-1-939016-23-2

  Electronic Version Published by Magnolia Leaf Press,

  2016. ISBN: 978-1-939016-17-1

  Cover Design by VK Hinze

  Related Books:

  Crossroads Crisis Center: Forget Me Not, Deadly Ties, Not This Time

  Shadow Watchers: The Marked Bride, The Marked Star

  Contents

  The Marked Star

  Prologue

  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

  About the Author

  Also by Vicki Hinze

  The Marked Star

  Prologue

  Silicon Valley

  Five Years Ago…

  The armed agent parted the living room window blinds then peeked out to check the street. Dark. Still. Calm. Normal street traffic. No kids outside; too late for that.

  Grateful for it, he remained on edge. Hyper-alert. Nerves sizzling. Even in the dead of night, moving her was dangerous. To her, and to him.

  He called back over his shoulder. “You need to hurry.”

  Fear had her eyes stretched wide, her weary face pale, and her hands shaking. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  “Go faster.” Only a fool would believe word hadn’t gotten out that she’d reported the strong-arm attempt. Her enemies likely knew exactly what she’d said and done before she’d left headquarters. They’d probably ordered her contract hit before she’d gotten to the waiting car. “This is the last place in the world you’re safe.”

  He shouldn’t have brought her here. His chest tightened even more. He knew better, and he should have refused. It’s just that she’d had a life; an everyday, average life and it had been snatched from her. She’d pleaded with him to let her come and get a few things. Seeing how much it meant to her had gotten to him; he was only human.

  She had grabbed photos, important papers, an old doll, and a little memorabilia—the kind of things that define a life and can’t be replaced. Surely, she was entitled to that much. She’d forfeited everything else: her home, family, and career—even her identity.

  He checked the street again. An old man with stooped shoulders and dark hair wearing glasses walked into view, led down the sidewalk by a frisky, leashed dog. The man didn't so much as glance at the house, which allowed the agent to release a staggered hitched breath.

  The dog paused to do its business on a patch of grass near the mailbox, leaving the man mostly hidden by her car. It stood parked in the driveway and unmoved, just as it had been for the past two weeks.

  Not daring to trust his eyes and ignore his senses, the agent remained alert, half-holding his breath again, straining to see clearly through the cracks between the blind slats. He held his gaze firmly on the man’s head and shoulders. Why was he bent over? Likely only hurrying the dog.

  Something tingled deep in his gut. He’d been an agent too long to not recognize the feeling, and stilled. Everything seemed normal, calm, yet his nerves strung tighter until they crackled like live-wires. Why?

  Having no answer, he watched and waited not daring to so much as blink. Finally, the man with the dog walked on, shuffling down the sidewalk as if on a leisurely stroll. In due time, he made the corner, then disappeared from sight.

  Slowly, the tension inside began to uncoil and the agent released the finger-parted blinds. They snapped shut. Startled by the silence-splitting sound, the woman gasped. “Sorry.” He turned from the window to look at her. “Who owns a chocolate lab?”

  “The Parkers. Three doors down.”

  Good. Good. Legit. “He’s out walking the dog.”

  She stopped in her tracks, a smiley-faced beach bag dangling from her wrist. “He? There is no he. Linda Parker is a widow. It’s just her and her daughter.” The gravity of her own words hit the woman hard. She nearly stumbled. “Oh, God. It’s them. They took Bruiser. It has to be them—“

  Her car in the driveway exploded.

  The force of the blast popped his ears, blew out the living room windows. He dove, slamming into her, knocking her off her feet. Sprawled on the floor, he covered her with his body, cupping her head in his hands, shielding her from flying debris.

  Glass rained down on them. Slivers and jagged spears stabbed into his back, his legs, his arms and hands. If combustibles were in the garage…

  A secondary explosion rocked the house, nearly lifting him off her. She screamed.

  “Stop it!” He whispered a swift warning. “They need to think we’re dead or they’ll be back.”

  Low and throaty, she mewled and pressed her dusty hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

  When the remains settled to fine dust sparkling in the air, he scrambled to his feet and pulled her up with him. “You okay?”

  “Yes—no.” She darted her gaze, dazed and confused. “They bombed my house.”

  “Yes, but you’re okay.” He checked her over, saw no blood. “You hear me? You’re okay.” He spoke slowly, distinctly. “We have to go now.” Crackling filtered through the wall. Something in the garage had caught fire.

  “But—but I dropped my bag—“

  He spotted it in the debris. The air still thick with sheetrock dust, insulation, and smoke, he snagged her bag from the rubble and tugged at her arm, urged her down the hall, through the kitchen, and toward the back door. His shoulder clipped the wall. Pain shot through his arm. His sleeve and hand were speckled with blood. “If you want to live, we have to get out of here—now. Do you want to live?”

  “Yes.” Tears slid down her face, streaking her dusty cheeks. “Yes, I want to live.”

  Chapter One

  Thursday, June 4th, 11:52 p.m.

  London, England

  “Congratulations, Elle.” Her tour manager, Neil St. James, seated his black-framed glasses on his nose with a delicate forefinger. “You’re a hit in London. Twitter is on fire—you’re trending.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” The applause inside the Royal Albert Hall had been thunderous. The concert had gone off without any major hitches and the audience had responded exactly as she’d hoped it would to New Dawn, her latest release. Elle had poured her soul into that song, written it with such hope... Deep satisfaction spread through her chest. Deep, yet not deep enough to assuage the guilt that had her seeking refuge in music in the first place.

  She dropped her gaze. Inspiring others was a start, and if she kept at it, maybe one day she could forgive herself.

  But that day wasn’t today. “I’m going to take a walk.”

  Neil didn’t seem surprised. “Of course.”

  She paused and sent him a quizzical look.

  “The band told me about your post-concert walks.”<
br />
  “It’s the adrenaline rush.” Performing always pumped her up. After concerts, she had to walk to settle down and get grounded. “Some artists drink. I walk.”

  “It’s nearly midnight.” Worry flickered through his eyes. “Shall I come with you?” He looked around, searching. “Where’s Charles?”

  “I’ll be fine, and he’ll be close. He’s always close.” She smiled, then recalled her usual bodyguard was home in the States. Charles, the replacement hired by Neil, stayed more in the shadows but he too hung close by. Seeing no reason to amend her comment, she added, “I won’t be long.”

  Neil persisted. “Where will you walk?”

  “To the hotel.” She grabbed a light sweater in case of a late night chill and realized she’d forgotten the name of the hotel. “Neil—“

  He looked down at her, his eyes huge and distorted by his thick glasses. “The Royal Park. It’s a boutique hotel. Everyone’s told me at least once that you favor boutique hotels.”

  She did. As much time as she spent in them these days, having a homey rather than a hotel feel to retreat to went a long way toward keeping her in the right frame of mind. She’d been away from home over two hundred seventy days in the past year. No one like her could stand that much hotel living and stay sane much less balanced.

  “It’s a block from Hyde Park,” Neil said, pointing. “You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.” Elle eased her arms into the sweater and snagged its sleeve on the amethyst ring her father had given her to celebrate the European tour. Elle loved its stone and ornate gold setting. Her birthstone was diamond, but her father had opted for amethyst, no doubt because it was purple. Purple had always been special to them. As far back as she could remember, the color had carried a special meaning they never shared with anyone else.

  She gently unsnagged her sweater then stepped out into the night and onto the sidewalk. Small groups of people milled up and down. Glad the sidewalk wasn’t deserted, she walked on, diverting her face when coming close to anyone to avoid being recognized.

  A couple came out of a bar, laughing. Another couple joined them and the foursome chatted about a movie they’d all seen. One loved it. One didn’t, and neither of them could get the other two to express an opinion either way. Normal conversation. Ordinary. Real.

  Trying not to envy them that, she kept moving. Half a block down from the Hall’s entrance, three men snagged her attention. They had been in front of her but now lagged behind, and they weren’t talking, just walking together silently, their expressions intense and serious, their gazes fixed and distant.

  Fighting off a shiver of unease, she picked up her pace. At the corner, the men closed the gap, coming nearer to her. The hair on her neck stood on end. A ripple swam through her stomach, firing a warning. She looked for her bodyguard but saw no sign of him. Didn’t it figure? Recalling his instructions to her, she stopped at the curb. A dark van pulled in and stopped. She turned her back to it and faced the more immediate threat: the three men. She stared at them, letting them know she was aware of them and taking mental notes. Her guard had told her that nine out of ten times that direct look was enough to get people to back off.

  The middle man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened.

  A second later, something slammed into Elle’s back. Beefy arms closed around her, and he lifted her off her feet. A rank-smelling cloth doused in some kind of chemical covered her mouth and, jostling her, deflecting her flailing arms, he half carried, half dragged her into the dark van. She stretched to reach the frame of the side door and missed. It slid shut behind her.

  Beefy arms tossed her onto the floor. She landed with a thud, her head swimming. Someone rammed a fabric hood over her head. She couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t remove it; they restrained her arms with some kind of thick strap. Tight, digging into her skin. Her heart raced, her mind whirled. She fought them with her bound hands, her feet, and felt a needle prick her thigh. “No! No!”

  “Shut her up!”

  “I’m trying.”

  The injection burned, and soon she couldn’t fight anymore. Her limbs felt heavy, leaden. Her head woozy, she stilled, face down on the van’s floor. Her body rocked—the van accelerating. It sped off into the night.

  “Is she out?” A male alto asked.

  “On her way.” A second one told him.

  She had to get out of here. Survival rates plummeted once an abductor got you in a vehicle. But she couldn’t move and her mind was functioning as slow as sludge. How could she run if she couldn’t move? Couldn’t think? “Who are you?” she mumbled, her voice foggy and thick. “What do you want?”

  “Put her out.” An irritated third man—a tenor—lifted her hand. Removed her ring. “And keep her out for the duration.”

  For the duration…? Oh, sweet mercy. They intended to kill her.

  Her heart sank. She was going to die. To die, and she couldn’t do a thing to stop them…

  Chapter Two

  Saturday, June 6th, 3:20 p.m.

  Seagrove Village, Florida

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Reverend Brown, the minister at Seagrove Church, smiled at Mark Taylor and his bride, Dr. Lisa Harper.

  Seated in a groom’s pew, Nick Sloan suffered only a tiny shaft of envy. Mark was a good man. Nick could substantiate that opinion; no problem. Mark had been Nick’s former Shadow Watcher teammate and he was the current head of PSC, the now ex-team’s private security consultant firm. More than five years of personal observation had given Nick valuable insight. Mark definitely was a good man—and most important to Nick, Mark was trustworthy.

  Hard lessons learned early had taught Nick not to trust anyone, but over the years, Mark consistently and repeatedly had earned Nick’s trust. As he had gotten to know Lisa, he’d come to respect her, too. She hadn’t been dealt an easy hand, but like most of the team, she had endured and survived. She’d become a doctor at Crossroads Crisis Center and she certainly faced her fears head-on, though honestly she hadn’t had a lot of choice about that. Some of her challenges would break just about anybody and have them curled in a ball, hiding in a dark corner until they could depart the fix and wing their way to heaven or hell. Not Lisa. No, she coped, and she spent her free time teaching at-risk women self defense.

  Lisa was bent on never again being anyone’s victim.

  Nick’s money was on her succeeding.

  Of course, the whole team had taken on the additional risks of being in one place simultaneously, making themselves easier targets, and shown up in Seagrove, Florida to watch Mark and Lisa marry. Tim, second-in-command, innately classy and sophisticated, came with his wife, Mandy. Joe, cool from the cradle, a woman magnet, and the undisputed king of contacts came with Beth, the one woman who kept him in knots and seemed immune to his charm. Sooner or later, Nick predicted, they’d also marry. Sam, the Civil War reenactment and NASCAR enthusiast, and the best background expert with the most highly honed intuition Nick had ever seen in a single operative or security consultant, came alone. And Nick, always alone, was the techie who could make computers sing soprano in any known language where a speaker had something to say worth hearing. Together with Mark, they were the entire former Shadow Watchers team and the current security consultant associates at PSC. They were also friends.

  At least, as friendly as Nick allowed. He did share more with them than with anyone on Earth. He’d die for any of them, but he also kept his bare-bone secrets tucked in his personal closet where bare-bone secrets belong.

  Regardless, the whole group had waited a long time for this ceremony.

  “They look happy, don’t they, bro?” Joe said from his seat in the pew beside Nick.

  At the altar, Mark and Lisa turned to face their guests. Their blinding smiles beamed joy. “They do today,” Nick said.

  “Come on, Nick.” Sam sighed. The absence of his usual ball cap or do-rag had his long hair unfettered. With the shake of his head, his red curls rioted. “Can’t you ever jus
t be happy for someone happy?”

  Tim and Mandy sat in the pew in front of Nick, Joe, and Sam. Both swiveled their heads to look back and whisper a potent, “Sh.” Tim’s warning came with a scowl.

  What was their problem? Nick shrugged and stood with the other guests then watched Mark and Lisa move down the aisle to exit the church. They were happy today, and Nick was glad for it. But he wasn’t fool enough to think they’d always be happy. Real life didn’t work that way. He didn’t make the rule, he just observed it. Real life never worked that way.

  The phone at his hip softly sounded. Recognizing the designated ringtone, his gaze collided with Joe and Sam’s. Tim turned and motioned with a head nod for Nick to get someplace private.

  The whole Shadow Watcher team used the same ringtones and knew Omega One was calling.

  High priority.

  Omega One was a member of an active-duty task force that didn’t exist on paper. It was buried in the bowels of the Office of Personnel Management where it would remain for the duration of its members’ commitment to government service, just as the Shadow Watchers once had been. It was during a mission in the Middle East, after the death of Omega One’s partner, Jane, that the whole Shadow Watcher team had resigned and departed the military. While Jane had been Omega One’s partner, she’d also been Mark Taylor’s sister of the heart. That she’d been killed while with them as a subject-matter expert hit the whole team like a ton of bricks. They’d let her and Mark down, and every one of them felt responsible for her death. They couldn’t have prevented it but, even today, they still felt responsible for not protecting Mark’s little sister.