Mine to Shield: A Second Chance, FBI Standalone Romantic Suspense Novel

Prologue

The soft white lights draped around the Christmas tree blinked, reflecting off the darkened dining room window. Normally, the sight offered a rush of excitement and anticipation, a reminder of the upcoming holiday. Not tonight, though. Not even the tiny snowflakes fluttering outside the bay window could distract me from the uneasy feeling churning in my gut.

Something wasn’t right. The building tension in the room thickened the air, clogging my throat. My nervous gaze darted between my parents as they silently pretended to eat their dinner, neither one glancing up from their plates to meet my questioning stare. Hands tucked beneath the mahogany table, my anxious fingers picked and peeled at the dark blue nail polish, the uncomfortable quiet amping up my already strung-out nerves.

Even though tense family dinners had become the norm the last few months, tonight felt different. It felt more. As if we balanced on the edge of a cliff, mere centimeters from falling off and plummeting to our death.

Finally, after minutes passed of me silently begging for anyone to look my way, Mom’s dark brown eyes flicked up from her full plate and landed on me. The way she pushed the lemon pepper chicken and rice around instead of eating it wasn’t fooling anyone. The corners of her lips curled upward, but there was a slight tremble in the forced smile.

My heart raced, and I curled my fingers into my palms until blunt nails dug into the skin.

What the hell was going on?

Dad cleared his throat, snapping my attention to the other end of the table. He slid the white cloth napkin over his lips, wiping away nothing since his food was also untouched, and tossed it onto the plate. Both lean forearms pressed to the edge of the table, his chest swelling with a large inhale right before meeting my gaze. His light eyes held my stare for a few heartbeats, lips pressed in a tight line.

“What’s going on?” I asked, unable to take another second of whatever this was. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t dare voice them. Not when I was almost certain the walls in our house had ears.

Paranoid? Maybe, but it was warranted, considering who my parents were connected with.

Two years ago, our lives changed. Initially, I thought for the better, but after several months of being in Georgia, I slowly realized the truth. The Union of Blessed Souls promised to help my parents through a rough patch in their marriage. The local church was praised for not only strengthening marriages but also bringing families back together in a happy union.

And, for a while, it worked.

Dad didn’t work late nights anymore, Mom was happier, and that made me happy. Then things shifted after both were promoted to teachers at the compound, helping other couples like themselves. Soon, their free time was committed to various church functions, and their circle of friends dwindled to other followers only. From the outside looking in, everyone considered the ten thousand-plus congregation of followers, both online and locally, a megachurch.

I considered it the foundation of a cult.

The first time I uttered those concerns, my mother grounded me for a week and took away all electronics and connection to anyone outside the church. For a then fifteen-year-old, it was devastating enough not to voice my concerns again. Staying connected to the outside world kept me sane as my parents slowly became less and less like themselves and more and more like those who followed Pastor Paul.

I studied my father, fingers once again nervously picking and scratching at the chipped nail polish.

Within the last three months, he’d lost a significant amount of weight, almost to the point I worried he was sick. A defeated aura engulfed him, following him around like a shadow, which was the opposite of the successful and boisterous seven-figure executive he was before we moved from Texas. Same with Mom. Her clothes hung off her thin frame, bones jutting out in places that used to be curvy. I couldn’t even remember the last time I heard her laugh. The same aura that seemed to suffocate Dad had its death hold on Mom, too.

Defeated.

Worried.

Scared.

Instead of responding to my question, Dad shifted his haunted gaze to Mom and dipped his chin in a subtle nod. I jumped at the intrusive scrape of chair legs along the hardwood floor and shifted to gape at Mom as she stood from her seat, my eyes wide and pleading for answers. With another trembling, forced smile, she plucked my empty milk glass off the table and headed toward the kitchen, disappearing through the swinging door.

I sucked down gulps of air, my heart racing so fast it felt like I just ran a marathon.

“Dad,” I pleaded, turning to face him head-on. Hands clasped in front of me, I swallowed down unshed tears. “Please.” My voice cracked. “Tell me what’s wrong?—”

His eyes widened in what seemed like panic. “Nothing is wrong, Kay-Kay.” My racing thoughts stumbled on hearing the nickname he called me all my life until recently. The swoosh of the swinging door had me turning toward the noise as Mom walked back into the dining room. My gaze flicked from Mom to Dad, who seemed to track her movement, focus intent on the full glass of milk clutched in her hand. “Don’t worry, we’re going to fix this. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

The heavy glass bottom clunked onto the wood table directly in front of me. Instead of moving back to her empty seat, Mom waited at my side, trembling fingers stroking through my dark hair.

“You should finish your milk,” Dad ordered, while picking up his own glass. “It will be good for you.”

Not it’s good for you.

It will be good for you.

I swallowed hard, mouth and throat suddenly dry.

Before I could speak, Mom bent at the waist and pressed a soft kiss to my temple.

“Trust us, Kay-Kay,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “Please.”

It was her tone, the words, the plea, everything, that had my shaky hand reaching out and wrapping around the Waterford crystal.

Did I trust them? Yes.

My parents loved me. Even with the crazy shit the church had them do, I always knew deep down Mom and Dad loved me. I was their miracle after doctors said pregnancy would never happen for Mom.

The milk almost sloshed over the rim of the glass as I raised it to my lips. With each gulp of the cold liquid, my gaze snapped between the two people I 100 percent trusted to do what was right for me. Halfway through, I lowered the glass, but Mom tipped it back again, forcing me to drink what remained.

As soon as the last drop passed my lips, Mom yanked the glass from my hand and hurried back into the kitchen. The sink water running had me narrowing my eyes at the door as if that would help me understand their odd behavior.

“I love you,” Dad said, his voice cracking. Shoving away from the table, he stood and inclined his head toward the foyer. “You should get some sleep.”

My jaw went slack. “It’s seven thirty.” But even as I spoke the words, a heavy blanket seemed to settle over me, thoughts turning sluggish and eyelids growing heavy. I blinked up at Dad in horror as understanding hit me. “What did you?—”

“Go upstairs. Now, Karigan,” Dad snapped, cutting me off.

Tingling pinpricks raced down my legs, the muscles weak, barely holding up my weight as I pushed off the table to stand. Every second that passed, my mind grew more sluggish, movements slow as if I were wading through dense mud. Halfway to the massive stairwell that led to the bedrooms upstairs, my legs completely gave out. I toppled forward, screaming on the inside as the floor rushed toward me. Before I collided with the sparkling marble two sets of hands caught me beneath my arms. With maximum effort, my head rolled to the left, and I slowly blinked at Dad’s ghostly pale face. I didn’t have to look to know Mom helped support my now-dead weight based on the familiar, expensive perfume wrapping around me like the hug I desperately needed.

“We can leave her down here while I go grab our bags. How much did you give her?” Dad whispered between heavy breaths as they hauled me in the direction of his office instead of the stairs.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Mom said between sobs. “Maybe we should’ve trusted her, told her the plans. I’m so sorry, baby. We had no other choice.”

I wanted to comfort her, tell her that whatever made her cry like her soul was being ripped out of her body, we could fix together.

Their frantic whispers dulled. Words failed to register as my neck muscles gave up supporting my head. Vision hazy, I barely recognized the soft rug that covered the hardwood floor in Dad’s office, the only clue to where they dragged me. Butter-soft leather caressed the back of my arms, and well-worn cushions molded around my back and legs as they situated me on the small couch. Unable to move, I stared at the beams crisscrossing the ceiling. I blinked when Mom’s worried face appeared, hovering over mine, followed by a feather-soft touch along my cheek, wiping away something wet.

Tears.

My tears.

“I’m so sorry, Kay-Kay. We’re so sorry we put you through this, but we will make it right. He can’t—” The familiar chime of our doorbell rang through the house, cutting Mom off. Her eyes widened, the spike of fear palpable. With a whimper, she kissed my cheek and disappeared from view.

Their frantic whispers carried through the office, though they grew quieter. The double doors rattled together as they snapped shut, sealing me inside the office alone. I lay on the couch, lids too heavy to keep open any longer, with only the sound of my thundering pulse and quick, shallow breaths filling my ears.

I fought against the heavy pull of darkness, my body and mind slowly succumbing fully to whatever drug Mom put in my drink. Anger at her and Dad sparked just as a female scream pierced through the silence, followed by shouts and the sound of something shattering.

Fighting against the drugs, a frustrated and terrified scream ripped through my mind. I was vulnerable and alone, and that scream. I knew the owner of that scream. Fresh tears leaked from the corners of my closed lids. More shouts had my heart racing only for it to freeze mid-beat at the unmistakable, rattling boom of a gunshot.

I stilled, not breathing as I waited, knowing deep down something terrible had happened. If I wasn’t sedated, I would’ve jumped off the couch when the bang of a second gunshot rang through the office. Inside, I cried and begged, though my body wouldn’t respond to my desperate need to expel the grief raging inside me.

Both of my parents were dead. How I knew that, I wasn’t sure, but somewhere deep in my soul, I knew. All those happy memories…. No new ones would be created, and the future I pictured with them at my side was ripped away.

And I had no clue why.

Deep male voices filtered through my clogged ears. Too far gone, knowing nothing was worth fighting for anymore, I sank deeper into the darkness that I now welcomed. Before I sank too deep, the sensation of a presence loomed over me. It felt sick, evil, as if an oily substance coated my skin.

“Don’t worry,” the evil presence whispered, the calm voice familiar yet not. “You’re right where you belong now.”

The urge to run, scream, or hide swept through me like a tidal wave just as the last sliver of consciousness faded. But I couldn’t even move as two arms hauled me into the air, stealing me from the place I called home.

I had no idea the nightmare that awaited me.

One I had zero hope of escaping.