The Fidelity World: BELONG (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Tl Mayhew

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Romig Works, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Fidelity World remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Romig Works, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  BELONG

  By TL MAYHEW

  Dedication

  To Aleatha Romig for her inspiration and this amazing opportunity, without either I would never have been brave enough to write and publish my very first story.

  To my husband “Jim” for his support and his encouraging words, which were usually, “Are you still writing?”

  Belong

  Clayton Andrews is a loyal bodyguard and driver. With his large muscular frame and background in law enforcement, his role as protector is fitting. But it also takes over his life, leaving him emotionless, untrusting and lonely. While in Savannah on a recovery mission, he’s met with the unexpected. Distractions are something he can’t afford and—she’s a distraction.

  Lacy James is finally coming to terms with the loss of her mother. Working as a certified nurse’s assistant at the same rehab facility where her mother was recently a patient is Lacy’s way of giving back. But not everything is what it seems, and when things begin to unravel, she’s unsure if he’s the reason.

  Clayton and Lacy’s paths have crossed before, and it’s not long before their brief encounter from the past comes rushing back. Without letting on to their similar interests in finding out the shady truths about Magnolia Woods, they unintentionally set in motion events that could cause them both harm.

  Will the two learn the truth without jeopardizing his mission and her sanity, or will they learn that some truths belong hidden?

  Contents

  Dedication

  Belong

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 1

  Clayton

  I don’t mean to stare. Well…actually, I do. She’s fucking hot. My eyes roam over every inch of her, taking in mile-long legs and the way the blue denim clings to her curves. When she bends to dig for something in her purse, a sliver of creamy white skin flashes just below the hem of her shirt, and the curve of her breasts protrudes from the collar.

  Working the muscle in my jaw, I force back a slew of obscenities, as the crotch of my jeans gets tighter. “Pull it together, Clayton. You’re acting like a fucking teenager,” I grumble, yet allow my gaze to linger.

  Her face softens as she pulls her hand from her purse and holds up what appears to be a cell phone. Once her body straightens, her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. She pauses, the cell phone midway to her ear as her eyes land on me.

  “Fuck, this isn’t good,” I mutter, ducking behind a tree and running a hand through my hair. The rough bark presses into my back as I lean against the trunk and contemplate what to do next.

  Standing in the shadows of Magnolia Woods rehab facility was not part of the plan today. For several weeks, we’ve been monitoring the facility’s surveillance video, which included watching and timing employees as they came and went. I’m here now because no one else should have been. That makes my options limited, but I run through a few scenarios.

  One: I could approach her, with the intel I have on Magnolia Woods. Convincing her I’m a family member of one of the patients would be easy enough.

  Two…two would involve a cocktail served from a syringe. Not only would it make her forget she saw anyone, but if someone had enough time, they could alter her memories.

  The syringe tucked in the pocket of my jeans rolls easily between the tips of my fingers while I consider the third and least likely option.

  Three...well, three involves a gun.

  My need for a decision is cut short when the crunch of tires on gravel and click of pebbles colliding midair draws my attention. Her pecan locks fluttering in the wind as the silver Camaro convertible speeds away.

  Narrowing my eyes, I focus on the bold black letters of her license plate and repeat the letters SLVR SS in my mind until I’ve committed them to memory. Then once she’s at the end of the drive, I slide a hand across my brow and switch to stealth mode. My steps are light, quiet, but also quick as I cover the ground between the trees and the back of the facility.

  While grand, the building is not much more than an old Southern estate that’s been converted to a rehab facility. If anything, it makes my job easier since it’s not fitted with the latest technology a newer facility might have. With little effort, we were able to hack the system and link it to the device in my pocket. The unit can unlock any door with an ID scanner, and it can re-route any video feed from live to loop as needed.

  Nearing the employee entrance, the area is void of any employees. I press my back against the aged vinyl siding and sidestep to the door, staying out of range of the surveillance cameras. They are on a loop now, but I don’t want to take any chances.

  With a hand on the handle of the door, and the other in my pocket, I press the button. The click of the lock being released is my cue, and I slip through the door.

  The room is dark. A mixture of coconut, vanilla, and spicy cologne permeates my senses, making me think I’m in a kitchen, but stepping farther into the room, an overwhelming scent of bleach has me reconsidering. When my eyes adjust to the lower light, the shadows begin taking shape, and I can make out rows of lockers. I’m in the employee locker room. Swiping the screen of my phone I retrieve the floor plans of the facility. And once I’ve determined the manager’s office is only two doors down, I direct the screen of my phone to the floor, then move to the door and pull it open a crack. My eyes narrow at the bright light protruding from the hall. I wait until they adjust once again, then open the door enough to gaze down the deserted hallway. With my back straight and stride confident, I step into the hall, appearing as though I belong there.

  When I get to the manager’s office, the window in the center of the door reflects a dark interior. I override the scanner, then quickly slip inside. Working from the light shining through the window, I move to the desk and stick the bug on the underside of the desktop, then slip back out the door and backtrack down the hall.

  It’s not until I’m safely back in my vehicle that I let out a deep breath and pause for several moments, while the pounding anxiety in my ears begins to recede. When the silence takes over, the ring from my phone startles me. “Mrs. Witt?”

  “Is everything taken care of?” Her tone is pointed, as always.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Meet us at the location discussed.”

  “Will do.”

  This is the extent of every conversation with Deloris. Perpetually to the point. Any personal
or small talk is essentially unnecessary, and understandably so. In our line of work, personal equates to distractions—and distractions can be deadly.

  ***

  Our rendezvous point is an abandoned metal building Deloris somehow gained access to. I don’t ask, and she doesn’t tell. The metal door creaks as I step through. She’s sitting at an old workbench, using it as a makeshift desk. “Mrs. Witt.” My tone is confident as I extend my hand to her.

  She accepts my hand and nods to the seat next to her. “How’d it go?” Her voice echoes through the empty building.

  “Everything went as expected. I’m somewhat disappointed, actually. I was fully prepared to kick some ass if necessary.” My lips curve up in a smirk, but hers remain in a straight line.

  “I’m not surprised. It’s why we do our due diligence before setting any task in motion. For the next day, we’ll be laying low, monitoring the manager’s conversations and keying in on anything we can use about what goes on at Magnolia Woods. I expect you have a plan in place for obtaining the ambulance?” She clicks through a slurry of emails scrolling across the screen of her laptop.

  “Yes, ma’am. They have two ambulances. One is an older model—mid-eighties Ford F350. I suspect it will be the least missed of the two. There are also two sets of keys hanging just inside the employee locker room with numeric key tags that match the number on each ambulance.”

  “Very well. Anything else I need to be aware of?” Her brows arch and her intense eyes meet mine, questioning, almost as if she can read my mind.

  “Yes.” I match the intensity of her stare and continue. “There was a young woman—brunette, five-ten or so, with an average frame. I wasn’t close enough to catch her eye color or name, and she didn’t notice me…at first.” The corner of my lip turns up as my thoughts drift back to how sexy she was.

  “Clayton, do I need to remind you we have been given strict instructions by the Demetris to stick to the plan? You know what happened to Jerrod, and I’m not willing to risk my reputation or my job so you can wet your dick.” She closes her eyes, her head shaking in disappointment, and her tone comes out more as a growl. “Anything else?”

  My brow raises at her forwardness, but I quickly recover, and bite out, “I can assure you, Mrs. Witt, this won’t jeopardize my ability to do my job. I understand the task at hand and the consequences explained by you numerous times, if I fucked anything up. This is not about wetting my dick, as you so graciously put it. It’s about finding out why the girl was at Magnolia Woods.”

  Silence fills the air as our conversation morphs into a standoff. Our eye contact doesn’t falter. Hers dart between mine, as if she’s trying to read me. I understand she’s good at what she does, but so am I. Years of training has taught me how to avoid people getting in my head. Attempting to relieve the tension, I lean back in my chair and casually say, “I did get her license plate.”

  With a heavy exhale, she concedes, “You’re right. We need to make sure this girl doesn’t have any involvement with the Fitzgeralds or Spencers. Let’s get it done so we can move on.”

  Using what seem to be wizardry skills on searching the web, she has everything we ever need or want to know about the girl on her laptop screen in less than ten minutes.

  My stomach drops and the muscle in my jaw flexes when I read the details.

  Lacy James. Twenty-six-year-old graduate from Colorado State University with a degree in journalism. She has one sibling, and her mother, now deceased, was recently a patient at Magnolia Woods where Lacy currently works as a nurses’ assistant.

  “Why in the fuck would her mother have been in that facility, of all places?” I mutter, though my voice comes out louder than expected.

  Deloris turns the laptop toward me. “I don’t think the reason her mother was at Magnolia Woods is what you need to worry about right now.” She points to the screen, zooming in on a clip from a Denver newspaper. The author is none other than Lacy James. I scan over the title, then move down.

  Injured in the Line of Duty

  “Sometimes, the road to recovery can bring even the strongest person to their knees. Perhaps even have them wishing they weren’t a survivor at all. Clayton Andrews gives us some insight into what his recovery was like…”

  My eyes close, not wanting to read any further.

  Deloris clears her throat. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

  “No, ma’am. That was a long time ago.” Meeting her gaze, my tone lacks the confidence emanating from my eyes. I’m not really sure if this will be a problem.

  She doesn’t question, instead; she continues skimming through the rest of the article. When she reaches the end, her gaze is back on mine, but her words are out of character. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but no,” I grit out, my tone harsher than intended.

  She closes the laptop and her voice softens. “I think we’re done for the day. You can head back to the hotel. If there’s anything else we need done tonight, I’ll take care of it.”

  Not wanting to risk the conversation going any further, I nod in agreement and head back into town.

  Chapter 2

  Lacy

  “Lacy? Lacy, where are you?” The concern in my sister’s tone causes her voice to raise an octave and echo through the now empty locker room as she calls out for me.

  I don’t respond right away as I sit on the hard, plastic bench, trying to find some relief for my aching back and throbbing feet. It’s no use. The only thing it does is make my ass hurt. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back, allowing the cold metal of the locker to chill my scalp. “I’m over here.”

  When she rounds the corner, she lets out a huff, and I open one eye. Her blonde hair is in disarray, her clothing wrinkled, and the creases in her face tell me she’s pissed about something. By the looks of her, I would say her day was probably worse than mine.

  “What are you doing here, Tracy? And why do you look like you just had a turn with the entire Atlanta Falcons football team?” My teasing tone is met with a sneer.

  Smoothing her hands down her shirt does nothing to straighten the wrinkles. With a frustrated huff, she replies, “I work here too, remember?”

  “Well, I’m not stupid. Of course I remember. I just meant what brings you to this part of the building? I thought you were working with Shelly on the second floor and your shift didn’t end until seven or so.”

  Certified Nurse’s Assistant at a rehab facility was never something I would have considered, especially with a journalism degree. The change in career came when our mother fell ill. Watching firsthand the level of care she received was difficult. The inconsistencies were frequent, and the impact was both physical and mental. When she passed, I no longer had the drive to write. Instead, I wanted to help people, specifically recovering addicts. Since my sister was already a nurse at Magnolia Woods—the same rehab facility where our mother had been a patient—it was only fitting that I begged her to get me a job when a position became available.

  She lowers her eyes, and whispers, “You know that patient in room two-fifteen, Mr. Craig?” I nod, urging her to continue. “I know he’s been aggressive to the other women nurses, and I’ve been in his room before with no issues, but I never expected…” her voice trails off, then she meets my eyes. “Today, when I handed him his medicine, I was too close, and his hand slid up the inside of my thigh and grabbed my crotch. I’m not talking lightly either. It hurt. When I tried to push his hand away, he caught my wrist, pulled me down, then wrapped both hands around my neck. Lacy, he was trying to choke me!” The creases from earlier disappears as her lips turn down and she wraps her arms around herself.

  My eyes widen, and my mouth drops open. “What? Are you okay?” Although she nods, a tear makes its way over her cheek, and I sit straight up on the bench, meeting her gaze. “Are you sure?”

  She wipes her nose with the hem of her shirt and nods again. “I-I’m o-okay. I’m just thankful Mack showed up when he
did. Otherwise…well, I don’t know what would have happened. It took two orderlies and a sedative to restrain Mr. Craig.”

  I stand, pull her to my side and give her a squeeze. “How about we head home? Then maybe we can meet for dinner and drinks later? I could sure use a drink, and you most certainly could too.”

  She stares past me while tugging on her ID badge, the elastic cord stretching, then snapping back into place. Stretching and snapping. Stretching and snapping. “Sure, that sounds good.” She blinks a few times, shakes her head, and adds, “I have one last patient I have to check on, then I’ll just shower here and meet you at the restaurant.”

  There’s only one patient I know she would stay here for, and last time I checked on that very patient, she wasn’t doing very well. “Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

  “Yeah. I checked her chart today and the doctor indicated she’s not doing so well.” She heads for the door but tosses over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you in an hour or so.”

  I’ve already turned and began pulling off my scrubs, but wave a hand over my head in her direction. I pull on a t-shirt and shimmy into some jeans. The clank of metal echoes through the room as I slam the locker door and sling my purse over my shoulder.

  I’m almost to my car when the lyrics of Adele’s “Hello” flow from my purse, reminding me I really need to change my ringtone. Pushing around crumpled receipts, makeup, pads, and whatever else, my hand turns up empty. With a huff, I drop my purse on the ground, and yank it open. I find the phone tucked in a side pocket and I’m about to raise it to my ear when my hand stops midair. My eyes lock on a silhouette of a man standing near the trees. I narrow my eyes, focusing on his features. His waist is narrow, but his chest and shoulders are broad. When I move my gaze higher, my breath hitches, he’s looking this way, but I can’t make out any facial features. The dark shadow from a tree is shading his face, but his commanding stance makes the hair on my neck stand on end.