HIDDEN
JACOBS FAMILY SERIES
BOOK 1
Vannetta Chapman
Hidden
Copyright © 2014 by Vannetta Chapman
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Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Ken Raney
Interior design: Caitlin Greer
Printed in the United States of America
First printing, 2014
ISBN-13: 978-1502318473
ISBN-10: 1502318474
Praise for HIDDEN
“Vannetta Chapman’s characters are so real, her story so compelling, and her faith so genuine, you won’t be able to put this one down! I loved it.”
~ Jennifer Beckstrand, Author of Huckleberry Hill
“Vannetta Chapman never fails to pull readers in and keep them hooked until the final page. Hidden will be no exception. Well done!”
~ Mary Ellis, author of The Lady and the Officer
“Vannetta Chapman’s Hidden gives us a glimpse into a world where domestic and international terrorism lurk around every corner, but it’s the evil that’s personal and intimate that ultimately provides the true test of her well drawn characters. A lovely romance between a complicated woman and a big hearted man, tension that builds steadily to a fever pitch, and a story of faith rediscovered make Hidden an engaging read.”
~Kelly Irvin, author of Hew Hope Amish series
In memory of my grandfather:
Benjamin Van Riper
Prologue
Livingston, TX
Fall, 1990
Dana Jacobs tried to scream, but no sound came. A small hand slipped into hers and pulled her away from the violence playing before her like an interminable, looping video. She turned and looked into the terror-filled eyes of her sister. Erin tugged again, pleading silently. A ragged, brown teddy bear hung from her other hand, nearly forgotten.
Dana scooped up the three-year-old, mindful that the bear found its way into her arms as well. She backed away from the cries of her mother and fled into the night.
They went into the woods, far enough away to escape the sounds and sights of the house. At ten years old, Dana outweighed her sister by nearly forty pounds, but her fear made her weak.
She prayed as she stumbled along the path.
The tall, old pine finally loomed in front of them. She placed Erin on the ground beside it.
“I have to go back,” she whispered, even as she worked to unclasp the grip Erin had on her neck. “You’re okay. You have Snooky. I have to go help Mama.”
She pushed the bear into her sister’s hands.
The smell of him reached her before his words—the unmistakable stench of liquor and sweat.
“And how do you plan to help her?”
She drew herself up to her full four-foot height and turned in the darkness to face her father.
One
Taos, New Mexico
May, 2008
Dana woke from the dream with a sob, drenched in sweat, heart racing, with bedding twisted around her legs. It took only seconds to realize it was a dream—the dream, again. After eighteen years, her father still haunted her. She went through her usual ritual of deep breathing, counting, lowering her heart rate.
She threw off the covers and walked to the kitchen in the darkness. Finding the glass of water she’d left on the counter, she downed its contents in three swallows. The liquid was a relief to her throat. It did nothing to soothe the ache in her heart.
The clock on the wall chimed 5:00 a.m., mocking her.
She picked up her cell phone from the counter, but resisted the need to call Erin to check on her. Instead, she flipped the switch on the coffeepot and went in search of her sweats. She had plenty of time for a run and a shower. She would still arrive at the Department of Homeland Security two hours early, but then that was normal as well.
Two
Ben pulled the two-tone, Chevy truck into the shopping strip and fought the urge to verify the address on his confirmation letter. Checking was pointless. He knew he had the right address. Parking in front of the only tenant still in business, he pushed the manual transmission into first gear and pulled the keys from the ignition.
A defunct, coin laundry sprawled to the right. It had been closed long enough for several nests of birds to take up residence under the awning. Some kid’s single, lost sock remained pinned between a plastic chair and the dirty, front window.
Facing the street was an old gas station, the kind with a service bay. Ben was only twenty-seven. He didn’t remember stations where they also worked on your car, but he’d heard about them. Their ruins still dotted the rural roads of Montana. He smiled to think there was something Taos held in common with his home state, thanked God for this measure of assurance, and walked into his new place of employment—the Office of Homeland Security.
A bell jingled when he pushed through the door, and the grin on Ben’s face spread even wider. A bell?
“Can I help you?”
The man’s hair wasn’t regulation; in fact, it was pulled back into a ponytail. Didn’t fool Ben. He recognized a guard when he saw one. Everything from his bearing to the alertness of his gaze confirmed as much. Starched white shirt, black tie, and a smile that stopped just short of friendly completed the picture.
“Benjamin Marshall. Reporting for duty.”
Without turning his head, Ben felt all activity in the office stop. A dark-skinned woman at the tactical board turned to stare at him. An older guy monitoring radio traffic threw a glance his way, then went back to his logs. A giant of a man with a full, red beard dropped a sheaf of papers on a desk and walked toward them.
Ponytail man reached across the counter, offering a firm handshake, but no warmer smile. “Clay Statler. Glad you found us.”
“Wondered if I was at the right place,” Ben admitted. “You keep a casual appearance outside.”
“Don’t want to draw attention.” The voice sprang as if from a boom box.
Ben had never considered himself a little man. He’d struck six feet his freshman year in high school and topped out at six two by the time he graduated. He was on the lanky side though. College had added some weight to his frame. Six years serving in the desert had carved away the extra and refined the rest into solid muscle. He wasn’t large by most standards, but he was solid.
When he turned toward the voice at his shoulder and saw the red-bearded man looming beside him, he almost stepped back.
“Jackson Boggs.” The big man grabbed his hand and comme
nced to pumping it. “Folks call me Red. You’re ten minutes early—that’s good. Shows initiative. Come meet the rest of the Monday morning crew.”
Ben followed him behind the counter.
“Nina Jones.” The woman’s voice lilted in the Apache way. Her gaze was direct, though she was a good ten inches shorter than he was. “Welcome.”
Dark eyes stared up into his, eyes wiser than her years. Ben remembered that was common for Native Americans in this region. It was as if the sorrows of their ancestors had been passed down. Her black hair was braided, and still it fell past her waist. Bronze skin accentuated high cheekbones.
“Thanks, Nina. I’m glad to be here.”
“Humph. He says that now—in May. Get him to shoveling snow in November and we’ll see how glad he is.” The old guy on the radios removed his headset and thrust out a hand speckled with age spots. “Captain Finney. Most folks call me Captain.”
“Pleased to meet you, Captain. Think you’ll find me fairly handy with a snow shovel come November.”
Captain grunted and rubbed at his right eyebrow, which was white and nearly met his left eyebrow in the middle of his forehead. “Seems I read you’ve been in the middle of the Arabian Desert the last six years. Not much cause for a snow shovel there.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben looked around the office. The place was more high tech from this side of the counter than it appeared from the front door. “Raised in Billings though. Did my share of snow shoveling growing up, and every time I came home on leave.”
Captain grunted, which Ben decided to take as approval, and picked his headset back up. It seemed to be a signal of sorts. Everyone else went back to work. Clay stepped to a closed door at the back of the office and tapped on it. The room had windows facing out over the rest of the office. Half-closed blinds covered them. Ben glimpsed a woman with long hair pulled back, hanging well past her shoulders.
“Time to meet the boss,” Red said. His giant paw came down, slapped Ben on the back, and propelled him toward the inner office.
Ben heard himself being introduced. He moved forward, again offered his hand, and smiled automatically in the way that was second nature to him.
For the briefest slice of time, everything stopped.
Later, it would remind him of those pivotal junctures in combat—moments of total clarity when all of his senses centered on one thing and only one thing. In this case, that thing was his boss, Miss Dana Jacobs.
It wasn’t her beauty that blocked out all else, though Dana Jacobs had no doubt been called beautiful before. It certainly wasn’t her clothing. She wore a plain, white, cotton blouse over black pants.
Thick, brown hair was pulled back from her face, revealing finely arched brows, a classic nose, and lips that were full and touched with the faintest of colors—or perhaps the pink was natural. She was tall as women went, only five or six inches shorter than he was, and though she was slight, she gave the impression of strength.
But what held him speechless were her eyes. They were impossibly round, large, and spoke of the many battles she’d fought. As foolish as it sounded, even in his head, their color reminded him of amber waves of grain.
When her hand touched his palm, the world around him came into focus again.
He did not doubt God had brought him back to Taos. And he hadn’t questioned why. Now he wondered if the reason for his return stood before him, chestnut hair pulled back, tired gaze quietly assessing him.
Certainly, he had a job to do, skills that were needed, but perhaps there was more. Was he to befriend her, guide her, protect her, or marry her? Regardless, it seemed that for a time his path was destined to run alongside that of Dana Jacobs.
Three
Dana motioned Ben to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”
Clay hadn’t moved from the door. He stood there still as a stone sentinel. “Anything else?” he asked.
Dana’s crew was faithful and a mite overprotective of their boss.
“No. Thank you, Clay.”
With a nod, he was gone.
Dana sat, but her posture remained perfect. She picked up the folder in the middle of her orderly desk, placed her thumb over the tab—MARSHALL, BENJAMIN—and opened it. The two-by-two-inch military photo looked several years younger than the man sitting in front of her.
The man who had bounded through her office door then stopped so abruptly was a complete surprise, which was why she pretended to study his file. She hadn’t expected sun-bleached hair, curling at the neck. He’d apparently taken something of a break since arriving stateside. Mr. Marshall’s entire physical presence was a bit of a jolt. He was overdressed in a suit that looked like it hadn’t been worn more than twice. Topping six feet and solid, he had the energy and demeanor of a Labrador pup.
Though he sat with a military posture, his right leg jiggled continuously, as if waiting were a trial for him. His brown eyes seemed to take in everything, while his face remained focused on her. He reminded Dana of a runner ready to sprint the moment the gun went off.
Scanning the file, a file she’d read thoroughly twice, she voiced the portions she had questions about. The pieces she needed to understand. “US Army, one tour in the Middle East. Usually lasts four years, but you extended it to six.”
She looked up and was surprised by his open smile. While she’d been reading the file, he’d been studying her. She slapped the folder shut and sat back. Mr. Marshall looked like a Midwestern boy through and through. So why did he want to spend a year in Taos, New Mexico?
He didn’t squirm under his new boss’s scrutiny. She gave him points for that.
“Why the extension?” she asked.
“My unit needed me.”
When she didn’t move on, he added, “We weren’t finished.”
“But you are now?”
He laughed and the sound surprised her. It was relaxed and genuine.
“I’m finished with the Army, but some good men are still over there. I always knew I wasn’t a lifer. I gave what I could.”
The answer sounded true, so Dana moved on. “Montana State University. Your grades were good, not great. You certainly didn’t need to join up. Could have gotten a job in business.”
“Didn’t interest me at the time.”
“I see you were in the Cadets all four years. Why?”
“My father was.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t family pressure so much as I grew up on those stories. They didn’t disappoint. The Corps was a good filter for my education—”
“Which was in chemistry. Rather an odd combination.”
Dana sat back a fraction of an inch as she became engrossed in his story.
“I’ve always been fascinated with matter, both how it stays together and how it blows apart.”
Again the smile and those chocolate-colored eyes. With brown-turning-to-blond hair curling playfully above his collar and a charming personality to boot, he added up to a Casanova. Dana did not need another one of those on her staff. The last one had stirred up the locals, brought down the district manager, and finally been reassigned to El Paso. He was probably wooing señoritas even as they spoke.
“I don’t get to choose applicants, Mr. Marshall.”
“You can call me Ben.”
Dana squared the folder so that it was perpendicular with the edge of her desk. “You applied online, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am. Then interviewed on the West Coast.”
“And I don’t doubt your expertise in—”
“Explosives.”
“In explosives is what you claim it to be.”
“I’m handy in plenty of things.”
“I’m sure you are.” Dana smiled, but in her heart she wished division had sent her an old guy, or another woman. She wasn’t prejudiced. She didn’t need the headaches of a restless, young man in their small town. “I’ve read your file. I know about your commendations. Truth is, we’re one of the quietest branches of first responders for the Department of Homeland Securi
ty.”
“I don’t mind quiet.”
“Now you don’t. I’m sure you’re tired after six years in the Middle East. But by November, you’ll be bored and restless. That’s when you’ll start causing me trouble.”
“You’re the second person to mention November to me.” Ben looked around her office, then back at her, and smiled. “You people don’t seem to like winter much. You should try it in Montana. We have winter.”
Dana sighed and tried to call up more patience. He seemed determined to stick.
“May I speak freely, Miss Jacobs?”
“This isn’t the military, Mr. Marshall. Of course you may.”
“The moment you need a good explosives man isn’t the best time to go looking for one. I don’t bore easily. Most of the time in the desert, nothing happened. Combat—it really is long bouts of nothing punctuated by moments of terror. I can’t remember who said that.”
“It’s a very old sentiment.”
“Well, it’s a true one. The point is, ma’am—”
“Please don’t call me ma’am. Miss Jacobs or Dana will be fine.”
Ben shifted uncomfortably. “The point is a job that doesn’t see much action suits me fine. I know how to stay alert in spite of slow times. And I’m good at what I do.”
“An expert with explosives.” Dana sighed, still unconvinced he was the perfect fit for her crew, but without the authority to overrule her district boss.
Ben held up both hands and wiggled his fingers. “Still have all ten.”
“I won’t ask to see your toes.”
Dana stood and walked over to a black screen that covered most of the south wall of her office. When she touched it, the screen glowed and came to life. The surge of pride she felt at seeing her designated area was immediately followed by the overwhelming responsibility she had for keeping its residents safe.
Hidden (Jacobs Family Series Book 1) Page 1
