Previous Works
Love’s Dangerous Territory
My Assassin Lover
Assassin Master
A Lesson In Espionage
Timeless Witch
Assassin Treasure
Ryder Policy
Assassin Deception
C.L. Scholey
A Whispers Publishing Publication
www.whispershome.com
Assassin Deception
A Whispers Publishing Publication
September 2011
© 2011 C.L. Scholey
Cover illustration © 2011 Anastasia Rabiyah
ISBN Not Assigned
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Published by: Whispers Publishing, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.
Dedication
For my family and friends, who continue to support my love of writing
Prologue
Chloe lifted her hand and moved back the long vines of the willow tree; the vines lay touching the overgrown, dark green grass. As always, she ventured forth, enthralled. Her little home had the most beautiful tree for miles around, amidst a huge backyard. Sheltered under it was a cast iron table and chairs, meant for the very young. A tiny doll buggy and ancient toys that her mother had once played with found sanctuary under the tree.
Granny had taken Chloe aside one day a few years ago and told her of the magic that lay within. Chloe had been awestruck. In order to get to the magic, you traversed an enchanted stream, filled with goldfish Granny swore could speak—if you listened closely enough.
Small pirate boats floated around or lay sunk within the sand below; armed, eye-patched, wary pirates kept vigil. The stepping stones must be carefully maneuvered. One small slip and the adventure would be over before it began; the trolls would get you first. They would turn you into an adult, in a world where magic no longer existed.
Chloe was too smart for the trolls. She knew the steps; she had practiced her entire life, all eight hard years. You must stay away from the ones covered with black pitch paint. Granny had taught her well. With childish delight, she approached the hard table. She glided her hand over it in a loving gesture.
The doll in the carriage laughed on a whispered breeze, encouraging her forward. Chloe dipped her hands into the carriage and withdrew the ancient, one-eyed doll with the hardened face; the one Granny claimed was in need of protection, the one called Salvare; to save. The limbs were stiff as always, hard to move and position for their endless tea parties.
One glass eye was a cloudy blue, but no matter. The doll was beautiful and always listened to her. Granny had once more made her pink clothing from the wonderful yarn she could knit with flowing ease, quick fingers that danced along the silver needles. Chloe hugged the doll to her breast fiercely, not at all minding when the hard limbs pressed into her tender skin.
“You will never fail me. You are always here for me,” Chloe whispered. She laid her head on top of the doll’s hard, cold, hairless head.
Wincing, Chloe could hear the yelling in the background. Her father was screaming at her mother in the front yard. She squeezed her eyes shut as he raised his voice even higher. The names he screamed at her mother made her recoil. She shook upon hearing the hard slap.
She knew he would leave soon. The door to the car would slam. The tires would spin, and he would be gone. Silence would follow. Her mother would try not to cry, though her tears would mix with blood to drip from her quivering chin and bruised lips and cheek. Her anguished eyes would beg he once more love her, and return to them soon. Granny’s face would seem carved in stone as she watched her son-in-law abandon them again. At least this time Chloe had been spared a brutal assault.
Chloe listened as her predictions played out. Yet this time when her father raced from the driveway, there was a horrendous explosion. There were screams all around. Frightened, Chloe raced from the seclusion and safety of the willow tree, dropping her doll to the ground, where it landed on the soft grass with a gentle bounce.
She rounded the corner of the backyard to the long driveway and was horrified to see her father’s car engulfed in billowing flames. Her mother was screaming, thrashing, being held back by her neighbor, Mr. James Flare.
Chloe stopped halfway down the driveway; she stared, transfixed by the roaring flames of the fire. They billowed about, as though dancing a morbid death dance with their helpless victim. She became aware that Mr. Flare’s son, Dirk, was crouched before her. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
She looked into the man’s blue eyes, mesmerized with the compassion they held for her. She had known this man her entire life. His brother, Damien, her very best friend, often played with her. Though she and Damien were an entire two years apart, he seemed just as smitten with the magic of the willow tree, at ten. Especially when Chloe named him Salvator; one who saves.
Dirk was older. He was already a grown man of twenty-two and even bigger than her father. Dirk had told Chloe her granny was wise and that Chloe should listen to her whenever she ventured to their home to play, which was often enough. Dirk had held her when she cried her sorrow every time her parents fought. He told her to give them time. For years she had given them time. Now it seemed their time had run out. Her father was dead.
“Why, Dirk? What did I do wrong?” Chloe whimpered. She pressed her small head to his broad shoulder and clung to him in desperation.
“You didn’t do anything, honey. None of this is your fault.”
“Who killed my daddy? Who took him away from me?”
“It doesn’t matter, honey. It’s over now. Your daddy is at peace.”
Dirk lifted her into his arms. Chloe could see her mother in James Flare's embrace. He was whispering urgently in her ear. Her mother nodded. To Chloe she looked somewhat relieved, and then even more frightened.
Chloe wondered at that. James was always very kind to her and her mother; he was her daddy’s boss. He often bought Chloe toys or clothes she needed. He let them stay in this house, rent free. He took care of her better than her father did, as most of her father’s money went to drinking and gambling. Never once had James frightened or harmed either of them in any way. Chloe loved him.
Dirk was carrying Chloe towards his car. She knew he was taking her to his father’s home. She heard sirens in the distance. Her mother and grandmother were huddled next to James and a few of his men. Men Chloe had met and thought were kind. Men who took the time to play ball with her and Damien, men who gave her piggyback rides. She was dismayed when her mother suddenly collapsed into James’ arms. He picked her up and headed off with her into the house.
“I want my mommy,” Chloe whimpered, as Dirk settled her into the front seat beside himself.
“Your mommy will come for you tomorrow, sweetheart. My father will take care of her and your granny, don’t worry. My father will take care of everything.”
* * * *
Chloe couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, staring at the white ceiling in Damien’s room. She had often spent the night, especially after her parents had fought. Sometimes her granny had walked the long driveway beside her home, traversing the massive, black, wrought iron gates, car
rying Chloe wrapped in a blanket, secure against the cold night air.
Most often they were met halfway by a car or a few men who worked for Mr. Flare. Chloe would be taken by one of the men and given to Samantha, James’ wife. Samantha would check her over, looking for any new hurts her father had inflicted, while James hovered nearby.
Chloe never went to a hospital. If her injuries were severe a doctor was called to the home. After each of her parents' fights, James left the house with a few of his men to look for her father. She had overheard James saying once her father was dangerous while drunk.
Chloe rose from her bed and on silent feet left the room. Her tummy rumbled. Hopefully Samantha was in the kitchen and would give her a homemade cookie and a warm glass of milk. Chloe trod down the long hallway to the massive oak staircase. Her tiny feet made no sound on the polished steps; not one board squeaked to give her position away. Once reaching the bottom she moved towards the kitchen, but she changed her direction as she heard raised voices coming from the other room.
“You could have killed the woman or child!" James thundered. "You know at times he storms off with the girl to frighten the mother! Damn you!” He brought his fist down onto a solid mahogany desk. “The mother was terrified, thinking she and the child were supposed to be in the car with him. The bastard had manipulated her thoughts, swearing he was the only one between us and them. She was hysterical before the police arrived, begging me for the life of the little one. I had to sedate her, making it look like she fainted.”
Chloe crouched outside the partially opened door, now frightened. She had never heard James yell so loudly, not even when she and Damien had found a bottle of one hundred-year-old brandy and used it for a tea party. Upon reflection, she didn’t remember much of that particular day. The next day both she and Damien had been very sick.
“Something must have gone wrong with the wiring," a man replied. "It wasn’t supposed to blow until I wanted it to. For God's sake, James, you know I would never hurt the child. I know what she means to you.” His hands were shaking and his face had paled to a sickly white.
“I had been under the assumption you were an expert,” James said. His eyes narrowed on the man in such a way Chloe began to cry. It was the same type of look her father wore before he struck her. Chloe didn’t want to be hit again; her back still ached from the beating her father had given her the day before.
“Chloe, what are you doing out of bed?” Dirk was suddenly before her, lifting her into his arms and drying her tears with a gentle stroke of the back of his hand. Dirk always lifted her with care, ever wary of the bruises she often sported. He ran a soft hand down her long, golden-brown hair.
“I wanted a cookie, my tummy is hungry. Is James mad at me?” Chloe sobbed, heartbroken.
“Of course I’m not mad at you, sweetheart,” James said. “Why don’t you take Chloe to the kitchen for a cookie and some milk? Once finished she can go back to bed.”
James placed a sound kiss onto her cheek and tweaked her nose. Though he was now smiling, there was an odd set to his features that gave Chloe an uncomprehending chill. She was happy when Dirk took easy strides away from the den, where she heard the door snap closed behind them.
Soon enough Chloe sat munching on an oatmeal raisin cookie and sipping at a warm glass of milk mixed with cinnamon. Dirk was watching her.
“Chloe, did you hear what my father and that man were discussing?” he finally asked. He bit into his own cookie, his eyes remaining fixed on her features.
“James was mad.”
“Yes, sweetheart, he was very mad."
“Why?”
“The man was careless.”
“Like I am when I leave the milk out to spoil?”
“Something like that.”
“I promise, Dirk, I won’t ever leave the milk out here. I wouldn’t want James to ever yell at me like that,” Chloe said, shuddering.
Dirk chuckled. “I can’t imagine you ever doing anything that would make my father yell like that. But, Chloe, it’s not polite to listen to people's private conversations.”
“I’m sorry, Dirk. I didn’t mean to. Are you mad at me?”
“No, Chloe, I’m not mad at you either. But I want you to do me a very big favor.” Dirk squatted down to eye level with her and took both of her hands into his own. Chloe stared at him, her eyes wide. In the past he had often asked her to keep secrets for him. Secrets she couldn’t even share with Damien. “I want you to forget anything you heard said tonight. Can you do that for me, please?”
Chloe nodded solemnly at him, gazing into his stunning, clear blue eyes. “I will forget, Dirk. I promise.”
“Why will you forget, honey?” Dirk encouraged, offering her the smile she found so captivating.
“Because I love you and you love me,” she said with a practiced ease. She smiled happily at him, exposing a gap in her teeth from a recently lost tooth. “Because after I marry Damien, I’m going to marry you.”
Dirk pulled her into his arms. “I don’t think Damien will share you with anyone.”
“Not even you?” Chloe asked with astonishment. Damien adored his big brother. Chloe was grateful he shared Dirk with her.
“Not even me,” Dirk replied.
Damien was still slumbering when Dirk returned Chloe to his room, oblivious to any occurrence. His even breathing sounded in the quietness of the large room. His blond hair seemed white in the silver moonlight as Dirk settled Chloe on a bed close to his. She unlocked her hands from around Dirk’s neck and kissed his cheek.
“I do love you, Dirk,” Chloe mumbled sleepily. He was one of the most important men in her life. She adored him as much as James.
“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Dirk replied. He nestled a floppy-eared, velvety soft dog he had given her for her birthday into her tiny arms. She crushed it to her chest with a smile of delight, her eyes already drooping.
Dirk settled Chloe under her covers. He stroked a lock of her hair back into place. He then sat holding her hand until she drifted off into a restful sleep. Dirk was her shield, her security blanket in the dark night. It was a comforting thought.
Chapter One
Once more Chloe lifted a slender hand to pull back the long vines of the aging willow tree. The magic within was no less captivating at twenty-six than it had been when she was a small child. She lifted her one-eyed doll into her arms and smiled sadly. The pink yarn had faded from neglect and had become ratty and frayed over the years.
Chloe took it over to the wrought iron table and chairs and sat. She sighed. It had been many years since she had ventured back here. The demise of her father had brought sudden changes. Her mother had always seemed so fearful at times when her father was alive, but the fears soon escalated and engulfed her, causing her to become irrational.
Thankfully Granny had been with them for a few more years until Chloe turned twelve. Once Granny had passed away it seemed like her mother gave up. She stopped taking care of herself and Chloe, who then grew more dependent on James and Samantha’s charity while she tried to take care of her mother. The responsibility had proved to be too much for her at times; she was still so young. Too much rested upon her small shoulders.
Chloe had been saddened to hear of Samantha’s passing three years prior. It had been Chloe’s last visit home to help offer support and garner it from loved ones. The woman’s death had seemed to shatter James in a way. In another, he seemed to pull a tight rein on his family; his hold had grown smothering.
Both Damien and Chloe had rebelled in different ways. Chloe wanted to pull all of them closer, feeling a bit frantic herself, while Damien wanted his space. Samantha’s demise had hurt Chloe deeply, more so than her own mother’s recent passing. Chloe had always felt Samantha had been more of a mother to her than her own, she had wished she had been her mother.
Chloe had received word from James the old house was now in need and she had to go through her and her mother’s things. Another of his men wanted it for him
self and his own wife and young child.
Chloe hoped they would have better luck than her family. She was grateful James had allowed her mother to stay at the small home with care from a nurse, while Chloe was sent away to school.
That last thought caused her a deep pain. She still remembered clinging to James in desperation, pleading with him not to send her away; she needed him. She could see the tears in his eyes, and when he held her crushed to his chest it seemed he was loath to release her. She had been confused and hurt at what she felt was a betrayal. She had returned to her home only for holidays and her birthdays. She had finally come to the conclusion that no matter how hard she begged, James would not relent. She was always returned to school after each visit.
Her mother had pleaded with her not to venture next door, but Chloe couldn’t stay away from them. They were her family too.
James made certain Chloe wanted for nothing. Her clothing was outrageously expensive; she always had the ‘proper’ jewelry Samantha insisted she have. Her allowance enabled her to buy whatever she wished. She had her pick of the beautiful horses in the schoolhouse stable; the teachers showed her a tremendous amount of respect.
The other girls in her school were convinced she was as wealthy as the rest of them. They thought the handsome, debonair James D. Flare was her father, especially since she had been enrolled under his name. Chloe never bothered to correct their assumptions.
Over the years her mother’s crazed ravings about their neighbors became too much to cope with. From the moment Chloe walked through the front door, her mother would begin. They were all bad, every one of them, evil to the core. Chloe’s father knew; he tried to warn them, to keep them safe. James had finally disposed of him. Her mother cowered and hid whenever the doorbell rang, talking to herself in a harried, incoherent whisper, her body twitching uncontrollably.
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