by Claire Marta
RAVEN
(GUARDED HEARTS BOOK 3)
by
Claire Marta
and
Nia Farrell
RAVEN
Guarded Hearts Book 3
by Claire Marta and Nia Farrell
Copyright 2020 by Claire Marta and Nia Farrell
Edited by Anita Quick and Claire Marta
Cover Design by Crystal Visions
Stock Photography from depositphotos.com
Formatting by Anita Quick
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used without the written consent of the authors, except for brief quotes in reviews. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. Such action is in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.
Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Release Date August 8, 2020
Length: 82, 233 words
ASIN: B084KRFN2N
True Lies Publishing
Shattuc, Illinois
Disclaimers
This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The use of any real company, organization, and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
DEDICATION
To our daughters,
for the gift of magic
they bring into our lives.
~ Claire and Nia
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Sneak Peek at Riley: Guarded Hearts Book 4
Author Bios and Links
Claire Marta and Nia Farrell Titles
Claire Marta Titles
Nia Farrell Titles
Chapter One
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
“Thanks again.” Raven smiled at the woman standing on the doorstep with one hand resting atop her five-year-old daughter’s head. “I know it was last minute.”
Her cousin smiled. “It’s not a problem. Really. We’ll be fine, won’t we, button?”
Willow nodded, hugging her sparkly unicorn bag to her chest. The inside was crammed with colored pens, pencils, and sketch pads half-filled with her drawings.
Raven bent to place a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Be good for Aunty Darcy.”
“Yes, Mummy.”
She didn’t like being away from Willow, especially now. The divorce from her ex-husband had been hard on both of them. It had been a relief, though, when Colin had given her the papers and told her he wanted an end to their marriage. Raven hadn’t been happy for years. Marrying him so soon after Michael was killed had been a mistake, but he’d insisted that she needed protection and Willow needed a father.
He hadn’t been the man he had led her to believe. The friend he’d become had been nothing but a lie. Finally free, she could build a better future for herself and her daughter.
“You're going to be late,” Darcy pointed out, shooing the child inside.
Giving her one last smile of thanks, Raven hurried toward her car with her keys in hand.
Her GPS was set to take her to an intake interview with her newest client. Casey Andersson, age… 26 tomorrow. First pregnancy with twins, due August twenty-fourth. She hated to be the bearer of bad tidings, but the chance of home-birthing twins was slim. Multiples typically came early. Many required neonatal care—sometimes for weeks—in a hospital setting. Being a nurse practitioner, she was better qualified than most midwives to handle complications, but things like premature births and emergency C-sections were out of her hands.
Her client lived near MacArthur Park. She was familiar with the area. The park was one of Willow’s favorite places to play, boasting a hedge maze and tree tunnels, a babbling creek, and stone bridges. She liked to live out her best-loved fairy tales and animated movies there. Raven pictured Casey living in one of the stately brownstones the area was known for. Instead, her GPS led her to the gates of a former military academy known as the Citadel.
Sweet baby Jaysus.
She nearly swore again when a gorgeous, dark-haired man opened the imposing metal entrance gates and hooked two fingers at her, motioning for her to enter. Unsure of where she should go from here, she stopped while he closed the gate behind her and rolled her window down.
Approaching the driver’s side door, he ducked his head and smiled broadly. “And who might ye be now?” he asked, the flavor of her native Ireland in his speech. He had the Pierce Brosnan coloring, to be sure, with black hair and eyes as blue as a midsummer sky.
“Raven O’Malley,” she stammered, feeling the blush creep into her cheeks at his look of masculine interest. She’d steered clear of men since Colin, focusing on her daughter and her career.
“Raven,” he repeated, almost tasting her name. “Killian. Killian O’Connell, at yer service.”
She wished.
Stopping that thought right there, she glanced at the massive four-story building, wondering how she was supposed to find her client with no apartment number. “I have a two o’clock appointment with Casey Andersson.”
Killian cast a gaze over the muscled pad of his shoulder. “She was in the back,” he told her, “overseeing things fer her garden party tomorrow. Come on, then. Follow me and we’ll see if we can find her.”
She left her window down when Killian put his hand on her door and chose to walk beside her like a shepherd leading his flock. “Why don’t ye park here?” he said when they were just past the main entrance to the Citadel. “I’ll see where she can be found.”
“I can come with you,” she offered, hating to make him double back if Casey was outside. The day was lovely, and a walk would be welcome.
A walk with him, even more.
Killian smiled wide enough to show strong, white teeth and make his eyes crinkle at the corners. The Gaelic that he answered with stirred memories of her childhood on the Emerald Isle, sitting in her grandparent’s stone cottage at her grandmother’s knee, listening to the lilt of an Irish whistle and smelling the peat fire flame from the hearth.
Before America.
Before Michael and the daughter he’d given her.
Before God decided
one was enough and a surgeon made certain she had no more.
These days, she lived vicariously, birthing babies and celebrating with new parents, holding precious little lives in her hands when she would never have another to call her own. Willow was it for her, but what a treasure. Her daughter was her world. She’d do anything to see her happy and keep her safe.
There were other buildings on the property. Killian pointed out a garage, workshops, and chapel. The gardens were in the back.
Raven felt like she’d stepped onto a set of a surreal Spanish movie with mythical creatures, complete with a labyrinth. A rainbow of ribbons festooned the trees. A number of wind chimes tinkled in the breeze. It was early in the year, but flowers were already blooming in profusion, splashes of color mixed with the foliage of herbs and a few vegetables. But the most amazing thing was a grotto built around a massive amethyst geode. A kinetic sculpture rose from the crystal cave, a dragon with outstretched wings designed to move so that it looked like it was flying.
“Jaysus,” she breathed. “My daughter Willow would love this!”
Killian grinned. “How old is she?”
“She’ll be five on Beltane. May First,” she added.
The Irishman’s smile widened. “I know.” The look in his eyes hinted that he knew all about the eight turnings of the wheel. “We should start winding Maypoles here once the babies start to keep them coming. We’ve four on the way now.”
Raven didn’t answer that, distracted by the activity taking place. Some men just as handsome as Killian were pitching a large canopy for shade. All of them were shirtless and as buff as calendar models. Two women—one ginger, one blonde—sat beneath a tree, drinks in hand, watching them work, talking with their free hands, and making suggestions.
“There she is,” Killian said, nodding at the pair.
Raven’s arrival attracted the attention of the other men. A couple of them stopped working to check her out from a distance. When Killian slashed them a warning look, Raven couldn’t help feeling a wee bit flattered. There were worse things than having a handsome man’s attention, as long as he wasn’t the possessive, jealous type.
Killian squared his shoulders and stepped closer to her, making a silent statement that the others seemed to recognize and respect. He nodded his approval when they went back to what they were doing.
“Now then,” he hummed, flashing a flirtatious grin. “I’ll take ye to her.”
The Irishman guided her across the lawn, weaving past a plastic tote box of decorations yet to be put up, and approached the women. “Casey, Raven O’Malley is here.”
“Orange juice,” the blonde blurted, slicing a glance at the drink in her hand. “No alcohol since I learned I was expecting.” When she looked up and their eyes met, both women froze, recognizing each other from a banquet last November, attended by New York’s crime family elite.
“Caitlyn?” She was a redhead when they’d met and her eyes had been green, but her face, build, and voice were the same. She’d come to the dinner meeting with Ivan Michalov, an arms dealer for the Russian Bratva. It was a world Raven was relieved to no longer be part of.
Jaysus. What if these men were more of the same? The Citadel was like a fortress. They could be running all kinds of operations from here with no one the wiser.
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
Thankfully, this was just the intake interview. She hadn’t officially accepted her as a client. There was still time to cut her losses and run.
“Mrs. Burke?”
Raven smiled tightly. “The ex-Mrs. Burke. I’m back to O’Malley from my first marriage. It makes things easier, having the same name as my daughter.” The list of questions she had come prepared to ask just got bigger. She needed to hear how Caitlyn was really Casey and why she was here at the Citadel instead of being with the Bratva. “As lovely as it is out here, maybe we should take this inside where we can talk.”
Without extra ears and without interruption.
“Sure,” Casey said. “Morgan, hold this, please.”
Handing her juice to her friend, also pregnant but not as far along, Casey scooted to the front of her chair and pushed up on the arms, heaving her gravid body to stand. “Thanks, cupcake,” she said, taking back her glass. “Come on, Raven. Welcome to the Citadel.”
As if they’d been silently summoned, two handsome men appeared at her side, one Middle Eastern-looking with a scruff of beard and shorter hair, the other resembling Jason Momoa with long hair, a black beard, and a ring in one nostril.
“Perhaps I should carry you?” the bearded one suggested, reaching for her.
Casey rolled her eyes and batted his hand away. “Iosefa, stop. I’m capable of walking into the damn house.”
The other male looked just as anxious. “But you need all the rest you can get and it would not be a task for us to take you where you need to go.”
“Malik, I love you, and God knows I love your protectiveness, but if you don’t back off, I’m going to lose my shit. Stop the damn hovering. You know how much I hate it.”
Raven listened to their exchange with amusement. Which one was the father-to-be, she couldn't tell. Each seemed as anxious as the other.
Leaving Killian with Morgan, Raven walked with Casey toward the main building, listening to a litany of curses that blistered the air.
“Christ on a cracker. I just can’t get a fucking break. They’ve been on overdrive around me since my godmother died a few weeks ago,” Casey told her, leading her through a massive entrance door and down a long corridor. “It’s… been a hard time for us. This is the office, and this is the library. We can talk in here.”
The second door opened to a spacious room, its walls lined with book-laden shelves that stretched to the ceiling. Overstuffed furniture surrounded a Persian rug, creating a space for conversation or comfortable reading. Antique library tables flanked the sides.
A heavy wooden desk dominated the back of the room. The handsome, dark-haired man sitting behind it looked up, studying them from behind his glasses.
“Emmett, Raven and I need to talk. Would you mind…?”
It took him a moment to fill in the blank. “Ah. Leave. Yes. Of course.”
Jaysus. Good looks, an English accent, and nerd glasses. Was there any man here who wasn’t fodder for her fantasy mill?
Raven sat on a loveseat and pressed her legs tightly together. She’d swing by home before she picked Willow up. As needy as she felt, thirty seconds was all it would take with her vibrator set on high.
Casey took a chair opposite her, still clutching her glass. “Can I get you anything? Water? Juice? Wine?”
“No, thank you, but before we get to the health questionnaire, I think we need to talk.”
“We do,” Casey agreed, “because once you’ve heard my story, the health questionnaire may be a moot point. You need to know what you’re getting into if we do this.”
Raven pressed a hand to her stomach, trying not to let her imagination make things worse than what they seemed. “Alright,” she said. “I’m listening.”
Casey took a sip of juice. Breathed in. Huffed out. Shook herself and started. “We met when I was undercover for the ATF, a Special Agent working on a case involving the Bratva. I pretended to be Ivan Michalov’s girlfriend. He claimed that his boss Alexei Popov killed his wife, his daughter, and my brother Ben and he needed my help to bring him down, the piece of shit. Sorry. I suppose I should warn you that I have a potty mouth. If I’m ever sitting funny, I’m probably wearing handprints on my backside because of it.”
“Okay,” Raven said. Her last remark raised all kinds of questions, but she wasn’t ready to go there just yet.
“I was never part of the Bratva but things happened. I…” She looked away and swallowed hard. One hand slipped to her belly, cradling it protectively. “Very early in my pregnancy—like six days into it—I was drugged. Kidnapped. Drugged again. There’s nothing to indicate any problems or issues stemming f
rom it, but it’s part of my medical history and something you need to know. What I need to know is if you’re still involved with the Irish mob. Colin Burke is next in line for his father’s position. I’ve brought enough trouble to these doors. It’s not fair to them to bring more.”
“I want nothing to do with my ex-husband,” Raven assured her vehemently. “And since he’s after an heir, he won’t come knocking on my door for something I can’t give him. I’m done with him and his family.”
A small silence ensued, the women staring at each other.
“Alright.” Casey nodded slowly. “If you’re willing, we can give this a go. You come highly recommended and I want the best—I need the best—for my babies.”
“Are you sure?” Raven questioned, sparing a glance toward the door. “Your baby daddy might not be happy when he finds out who I’m connected to. Is he with the ATF?”
The blonde chuckled. “Daddies,” she corrected. “Two of them. And no, they don’t work for the ATF. They answer to a different…, higher power.”
Okay. Men with secrets. Something Raven was used to. She had to wonder, though. CIA? Interpol? Her overactive imagination suddenly spiralled out of control. Were they operatives or a think tank of some kind? Freelancers working on projects for the government, reporting to some Secretary or other? Maybe they reported to the President himself. The Citadel would be a perfect cover for clandestine operations.
“And yes, I’m sure,” Casey continued, oblivious to the maelstrom of wild thoughts in her head. “At the dinner, I had a good feeling about you when you stabbed a marshmallow and made a Ghostbusters reference.”
It was Raven’s turn to laugh. “That was actually the highlight of my evening.”
“Does your daughter still like the cartoon?”
Raven sighed. “She’s more into Brave these days. She keeps looking for wisps. Fairies. Asking the bears at the zoo if they’re under a spell, too. She’s always talking to animals. Jaysus, she’d love that dragon in your garden. She’d be the princess in the cave, finding it and setting it free. Willow is my Beltane baby. One foot here and the other who knows where. It’s like she lives on two planes of existence.”
