by Shelly Knox
Betrayed!
Shelly Knox
Contents
Acknowledgments
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 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books By Shelly Knox
Human Trafficking Facts
Dedication
To Joe, Heather, Brittany, Jack, Luke, Mojo, and Murphy. Thank you for your love and support. You mean the world to me.
To my sister, Darla: thank you for helping me share my books with friends and family.
Laurie and Ramona—where would I be without your belief in me? I’m not sure I would be releasing my third book without the two of you to prod, cajole, and encourage me to reach for my dreams. Thank you. Love you both!
Felicia, thank you for the inspiration you provide in all the notes and cards. You’ve been a great support since we met nearly thirty years ago. The last eighteen months of notes and cards arriving at just the right moment showed me how truly blessed I am. Thank you, sis.
To my Cresswind friends, members of Writers In The Wind, those of you brave enough to take my fiction writing courses, and all of you who have supported me—thank you from the bottom of my heart.
And as always, to my husband, Jim. I still feel you watching over me. Never forget that you were loved fiercely. Till we meet again …
Jim Fronheiser
12/2/1940 to 4/4/2018
USAF 1959 to 1979
Acknowledgments
Thank you Abril for her help with the Spanish! I couldn’t have done it without you! Any mistakes in Jon’s Spanish is on me.
Special thanks to Faith, my copyeditor. Her mad skills keep everything consistent. My books are better because she has provided valuable input.
Thanks to the Texas Rangers for answering my questions so I could keep Jaxson and Jon as authentic as possible.
Thank you Nancy for leading the way with marketing and bringing my books to a whole new group of readers. I have learned a great deal from you. Thank you seems totally inadequate. You’re the best!
Thank you to my Facebook friends and my ARC members who support my writing.
Last, but certainly not least, thank you Tazzie for being my best friend for ten years. I hope you’re having fun with daddy and Jasper across the Rainbow Bridge.
Tazzie
7/6/2003 to 12/21/2013
Copyright © 2019 by Shelly Knox
All rights reserved. This work is not transferable and is for your personal use only. No part of this work can be sold, shared, copied, scanned or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright. Copyright infringement is against the law. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters places and incidents are the creation of the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (living or dead), are coincidental.
ISBN: 9781689951524
Chapter 1
“Woman must not depend on the protection of man, but must be taught to protect herself.”
Susan B. Anthony
Sarah awoke to bumps and dips tossing her around—gagged, blindfolded, and bound. In a car trunk? She tapped her baby belly until little Emily kicked and Sarah knew she was safe—for now. Random horrors peppered her brain—Kidnapped? Why? No family money. Rape? At almost ten months? No.
A car engine roared, and a radio played music. Her cell phone? She couldn’t reach her pockets. What happened? Her foggy mind uncovered one brief memory—a husky man.
As she left the medical building, a man approached. “… borrow … cell phone … call wife? ... missed Lamaze.”
She didn’t recall giving him her phone, and she didn’t remember him making a call, and by God, she didn’t remember how she ended up in this trunk.
The car stopped. A door opened and loud noises of metal objects stirred from the backseat. The racket sent bolts of terror up every threaded nerve—gripping, scraping, entangling.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel moved toward the rear of the car. A key slipped into the trunk slot. A violent tremble shook Sarah, and pee pooled between her legs. The gag over her mouth prevented even an attempt at a scream.
The trunk popped open.
Fearing for her baby, she could only repeat in her head, Oh, Emily, Emily, Emily.
“Fuck! What did you do, piss yourself? I’ll be glad to be rid of you.”
A hand, covered by a leather glove, grabbed her arm. With a couple of tugs on her ropes, he yanked her out of the trunk and dragged her down a gravelly path. The pain in her shoulders jabbed and kicked and hammered until she wanted to beg for relief. When he stopped, he pulled the wad of cloth out of her mouth.
“Please, please don’t hurt my baby.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek for one person, and only one person: Emily.
A sharp pain cracked across her temple. And Sarah drifted away.
Chapter 2
Bright sunlight pierced the plantation shutters and jarred Piper awake. For the first few seconds, she believed she dreamt the kidnapping, and the torture, and his desertion—all the life events that had shattered her life.
A cold nose nudged her cheek. She opened one eye and Tazzie stood over her. Dark-brown eyes held Piper’s gaze as if her companion could peer into her soul. The twenty-five-pound Sheltie licked her cheek. She was sure her Certified Service Dog assumed her DNA contained human genomes and not K-9 genes.
Scratching behind her Sheltie’s ear, she tried to block the horrendous memories out of her mind, rather than focus on the incidents that had cost her everything—including a normal life. Of course, that was Tazzie’s job—to change her attention from the awful past to the hopeful present.
“Fight Song” chimed from her cell phone recharging in the kitchen. She knew it was Keri, her sister. She called this time every day. Piper crawled out of bed and
called, “Potty time.” Tazz barked all the way to the kitchen.
She’d hoped Keri would hang up; the phone did quiet down for a second. But Keri called back.
After picking up the phone, Piper said, “Good morning.” She opened the back door and let Tazz outside.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes to pick you up for work.”
A deep breath filled Piper’s chest and then exited like a boiling tea kettle pushing the steam out of the pour spout. “I just got up. I need at least an hour. I have to take a hot bath this morning. My pain’s a seven.”
“I’ve got a busy morning. I don’t care if your pain’s a ten. I’ll be there in twenty to pick you up for work.”
The phone went dead. Piper placed it on the counter, soft as a snowflake landing on her cheek, and then counted to ten. It didn’t matter that Keri didn’t warn Piper they needed to leave early this morning, it didn’t matter Keri just expected Piper to do as she said, it didn’t matter that Keri believed she was the boss.
It didn’t matter that Keri was a bitch.
She was blonde, she was green-eyed, and she was her sister—narcissistic and bossy and mean. They may look alike, but they were polar opposites.
Granted, it was generous of her to chauffeur Piper around because she lacked, until the end of this month, the requirements to get a Texas driver’s license. But in all honesty, her attitude took a toll.
After Piper cared for Tazzie, she headed to the bathroom, where she hoped a hot bath would work out the pain caused by that torturous night. The light-blue walls elicited a calm that washed over her. She started the jets in the tub and climbed in once the pleasurable pulsating, swirling water, with peppermint and eucalyptus aromatherapy, welcomed her.
The jets circulated the hot water over her tense, stiff, thirty-something body. She turned the water faucet hotter in hopes it would help ease her pain. Working for a flood of endorphins wasn’t in her plan today. The hot soak dissolved her pain on most occasions—today couldn’t be any different. She needed relief before Keri showed up.
Tazzie walked into the bathroom and settled on the rug at the base of the tub.
Piper twisted so the jets hit the sore spots and kneaded the knots and kinks that hurt the worst this morning. She placed her long finger on the red raised skin above her right breast and let the tip of her finger follow the ugly reminder. Then she repeated the act over the scar above her belly button, and then below her left ribcage. The Parkway Serial Killer story, which had won her the Georgia Best New Investigative Reporter of the Year award, had almost killed her.
Tazz popped up, whined and pawed the edge of the tub because she couldn’t reach Piper.
She never planned to think about the past. The past crept up on her. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, holding the air for a count: one, two, … ten. Her special service dog rested her head on the edge of the porcelain tub, guarding her charge. Piper opened her eyes and her girl lifted her head and smiled.
Tazz’s specialized training involved learning how to predict post-traumatic stress disorder and warn Piper if her body started slipping into an anxiety attack. Her dog’s warnings allowed Piper time to practice her relaxation techniques. That, in turn, kept her from embarrassing herself—most of the time. It had been months since a full-blown attack had seized her in front of others. Sometimes she forgot that Tazz was her service dog and not just a pet.
That’s why she enrolled her in nose work and tracking classes not long after she received her. She didn’t want her to be just a service dog. And Tazzie’s smarts still amazed her. Tazz moved through the scent training and tracking classes and events at lightning speed. Just last weekend, Tazz earned her Variable Surface Tracking title from the American Kennel Club. This event tested the dogs in the real world, where they tracked through urban settings, as well as through wilderness. A VST dog must demonstrate this ability by following a three- to five-hour-old track. This was Tazzie’s third title. She also earned the Tracking Dog and Tracking Dog Excellent titles. This meant the AKC should also award her Champion Tracker because she had all three titles now.
She rolled her head from side to side, and front to back, trying to loosen her neck muscles. If it wasn’t for Tazzie, she couldn’t think about working again, let alone writing about crime. Tazzie’s intuitive sixth sense always warned Piper so she could keep her emotional collapse at bay with the tools she’d learned.
She moved from Georgia and colleagues, who loved and admired her, back to where she grew up, Austin, Texas, to live with her sister after her attack. Now she worked at a newspaper where her peers wouldn’t give her the time of day, a boss who didn’t like the column she wrote, and a sister so bossy Piper couldn’t live her own life.
Maybe she shouldn’t have moved to Texas.
A hot soak wasn’t going to do it today.
She needed endorphins.
She rocked her hips back and forth over the jet. She swayed closer to the thrusting water. The pulsating stream hit the edge of her thigh and then slipped in between. Piper inched nearer her special place and almost made contact. The sexual ache grew and grew until…
Keri called out, “Where the hell are you, Piper?”
Tazzie barked.
Piper shot up into a sitting position, heart pounding and water splashing over the edge of the tub.
“You’re going to make me late.”
“Damn.” Her cheeks grew hot, embarrassed by her act.
Her pain could progress to such an intensity that only narcotics or endorphins could relieve the agony—sometimes endorphins weren’t enough. She refused to take narcotics during the day, though. She only took them at night. Her life needed a man to give her an endorphin boost daily.
But no one could replace him.
Not then. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter 3
An hour later, Piper leaned over her cluttered desk at the Austin Statesman. She slipped her navy jacket off and smoothed her silky layered V-neck sleeveless blouse. The top portion of the shirt was navy with a white box pattern and navy ruffle along the hem. Piper always came to work dressed in a professional manner, just in case a story took her out of the office. Even now, when she never left the office.
Her desk and surrounding area had stacks of files in colored folders, cardboard boxes, newspapers, books, and office supplies. The messy area made it difficult to fathom that she had only worked at the paper for six months. She always began her day by reading email and she started with one from a reader. It must have been someone who followed her before … He wanted to know when she would return to investigative stories. Under the desk, Tazzie sat up. Piper grabbed the edges of her chair. Her knees bounced up and down in quick succession.
Tazzie nudged Piper’s arm. This was her job—to warn Piper when a panic attack neared the surface. If the thought of returning to meatier stories freaked her out this much, she’d never get her life back. Tazzie laid her head on Piper’s lap. Piper stopped and took a deep breath. She let her gaze scan the large newsroom as she counted. Three, four… Rows of desks, that she imagined used to be busy with reporters, were now three-quarters empty. It appeared no one but the twins had glanced her way. Of course, they noticed everything. …Eight, nine, ten. Piper took a deep cleansing breath and petted the back of Tazzie’s neck.
Beth-Anne Ireland, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, stopped drinking her Starbucks coffee that had scented the office with the sweet mocha aroma. Her tight Levi’s and low-cut, baby-doll blouse defied anyone to guess her actual age. Her twin, Tami-Sue Ireland, halted dialing the fax phone number on the multifunction blue and gray Rocha copier that the company installed two weeks ago. The spinsters had worked at the newspaper longer than God. Without the twins, Piper knew the publisher had no doubt that the paper would fall apart—as the twins held the key to everything. The two of them had seen fifteen managing editors come and go and three publishers. They memorized the history of the paper. They could find anything that you needed.
They recognized where the skeletons were hidden.
Piper smiled and nodded at the twins as she petted Tazzie. Her heart returned to a normal rhythm. It had passed. She glanced toward her cubicle neighbor, Todd Hamilton. He’d halted his phone conversation in mid-sentence; his mouth still hung open, and a gleam of coffee dotted his lower lip. His chocolate-brown eyes stared in her direction. His brown hair framed his stubbled face in a shaggy mess—he needed a shave and a haircut. Todd didn’t dress in business attire like Piper; he wore distressed jeans and a T-shirt. He kept a suit at the paper in case he had an interview outside the office. She nodded back at him and let her gaze drop back to her desk.
