Shadowed Lies (Prey Security: Charlie Team #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

July 21 st

10:49 P.M.

Knock, knock, knock.

Cole Charleston rolled over in bed, lifting a hand to swat away the annoying noise.

It had been days since he’d slept properly. Not since before they got back from Egypt where he and his brothers had learned a shocking truth about their mother and what might have led to her being branded a traitor.

Finally, he’d come to accept that more answers weren't just going to spring up out of nowhere and illuminate themselves. When that finally sank in, he realized that he wasn't doing himself any good working around the clock. If he didn't get some real sleep soon, he would wind up missing something important.

So he’d climbed into bed.

Now something was trying to rouse him from sleep he’d only just fallen into.

Knock, knock, knock.

A frown knitted his brows together as the obnoxious sound persisted, tugging him further and further away from the slumber his body craved.

Rolling over again, he burrowed into the pillows. The day had been warm, but he had the air conditioner in his apartment cranked up high and his bedroom was pleasantly cool. Just how he liked it to sleep well.

Sleeping well was something he’d struggled with ever since he was eleven years old, and his home had been stormed in the middle of the night by armed men dressed in black who had dragged him and his siblings out of their beds. That night, his life had been irrevocably changed when his mother and stepfather had been taken away in handcuffs.

For years, nightmares had plagued him. Playing out that same night only with dozens of different variables, some where they were killed, others where they were tortured. Most of the time, he’d kept those dreams to himself because the baby of the family, Cassandra, had also had dreams, and she’d been just five years old, needing all of them to be strong for her.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Go away,” Cole mumbled, this time sitting up in bed and glancing at the glowing numbers on the nightstand, groaning when he saw it wasn't even eleven yet. He’d been in bed not quite thirty minutes, and the sleep that had seemed so easily reachable when he first climbed under the covers now seemed too far out of reach to grasp.

Great.

Just what he needed.

Another night of no sleep.

Knock, knock, knock.

Finally registering the annoying sound as all sleep cleared from his mind, he realized that someone was knocking on his door.

He lived in a secure building with a doorman, so there shouldn’t be anyone wandering around inside who didn't live there or wasn't visiting someone who did. If it was one of his brothers, they would have called first, not just shown up knocking on his door at close to midnight.

Which meant it must be a neighbor.

Why any of them would be hammering on his door he didn't know. If they had an emergency, they should call 911. Cole wasn't friendly with any of his neighbors, not that he was rude to them either, well other than the woman who lived next door who he didn't like. He just kept things polite and respectful with the rest of them though, he’d nod hello or ask how someone was if they were both sharing a lift.

No one there knew who he was, that he was a former Green Beret and now worked for the world-renowned Prey Security as part of Charlie Team. Since nobody knew his particular skill set, they would have no reason to seek him out specifically in an emergency.

An uneasy feeling settled in his gut as he shoved back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed.

They’d made waves in Egypt.

What was supposed to be his older brother Cooper going to get answers from an Egyptology professor who claimed to have recognized a photo of their mother, had turned into so much more.

Yes, they’d gotten some answers, but not enough to put any pieces together. They knew that Tarek Mahmoud had been involved in raping their mother and she’d been at the man’s wedding, likely as part of her last mission for the CIA before she died. But before they could get more, like the names of the other people the professor had claimed were involved, he’d been killed by Willow Purcell.

Willow was a woman Cooper had found locked up in the professor’s house. Unable to leave an innocent behind, his brother had rescued her and they had fought for their lives time after time until Willow eventually managed to stick a knife in Mahmoud’s neck before he could shoot her.

As a journalist, she’d been following the professor because of his ties to a terrorist cell, and when she got home, she’d published her article. That was just a couple of days ago. Was it possible whoever was working with Mahmoud was going to do something stupid like make a move to start taking them all out, since the world now knew they’d been involved in the professor’s death and dismantling the cell?

Grabbing his weapon, Cole padded barefoot through his apartment toward the front door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Whoever was out there was persistent. They weren't going away if he didn't answer the door and see what they wanted.

Bypassing the peephole, since he knew it was a quick and easy way to kill someone as soon as they glanced through it, instead, he angled himself to the side of the door, just in case it was someone here to kill him and flicked open the lock.

The moment he swung the door open a figure came tumbling through it.

Pure reflex had him reaching out to grab them before they hit the floor.

Long dark brown hair billowed through the air as he spun the figure around. Wide green eyes stared back at him, cloudy with shock and pain.

Bruises marred the usually pale skin of the woman who lived next door to him.

Susanna Zangari.

A year younger than him, the two fought like cats and dogs. They couldn’t be civil with one another if their lives depended on it. Any time they crossed paths, they had snarky insults to sling at one another and little else.

Cole had no idea why Susanna hated him, but he knew why he hated her. The Zangari family was rich, and even though she was almost thirty, Susanna lived off their money. That and what she made as a prostitute. At least that’s what he assumed she did given the fact that men seemed to come and go from her apartment at all hours of the day and night.

Now, though, he couldn’t think up a single one-liner to toss her way.

Not only were there bruises on her face, but her clothes were torn, and he could see bruises in the shape of fingerprints forming on her bare forearms.

What the hell?

“Sprinkles?” he asked, calling her by the nickname he knew she hated, one he’d come up with because of the light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that reminded him of chocolate sprinkles on vanilla ice cream.

He’d caught her before she hit the floor, but she was swaying in his one-handed hold. It was clear, even without her having to say anything that she’d been attacked. He had no idea where, but those bruises on her were still darkening, so it had happened recently and likely somewhere close by, maybe even inside her apartment.

She hadn't said anything, was just staring at him, and he wondered if she even knew where she was or that he was standing right before her. She seemed to be staring through him rather than at him.

“Susanna,” he said in the gentlest voice he’d ever used with her. Even if her obvious assault was because of her own choices to allow strangers into her home, it didn't mean she deserved this.

Nobody deserved this.

Still sensitive to seeing a woman bruised and beaten after helping rescue Willow, who had been covered head to toe in bruises from being repeatedly beaten by Tarek Mahmoud, Cole reached out a hand and swept a lock of hair off Susanna’s face, tucking it behind her ear.

The brief touch seemed to tug her out of the haze of shock she’d been stuck in. After a slow blink, her eyes cleared a little and he knew she was actually seeing him.

Her mouth moved but no sound came out.

Her tongue darted out to sweep across her lips and it was only when she winced that he noticed that her bottom lip was split and bleeding.

Her throat worked, and when she finally spoke her voice was weak and strained. “I didn't know where else to go,” she mumbled right before her eyes rolled back in her head, and she passed out.

Again, he caught her as she fell, only this time, he swung her into his arms and carried her toward his couch. He had no idea what would propel her to come to his place if she’d just been assaulted, but even though he didn't like her, he wasn't a monster. He’d call the cops and an ambulance and make sure Susanna got the help she needed. Then he’d go right back to hating her.

Maybe.

If he could ever get out of his mind how small and vulnerable she looked in this moment.

July 21 st

11:13 P.M.

Pain sliced through her head and Susanna groaned as consciousness slowly trickled back into her mind.

She didn't want to wake up.

That she knew for certain, even if she wasn't quite sure yet why that was.

It was just an understanding deep down in her bones that if she allowed herself to remember why her head hurt so badly, she would never be the same again.

Whatever had happened to cause the pain was bad.

Bad enough that it would fundamentally change who she was as a person.

How could she remember that and yet not actually remember what had happened?

Susanna didn't know, but she did know that the more thoughts that popped into her head, the closer she got to waking, and as that happened, she became aware of more aches and pains. It felt like someone had been beating on her.

Something she knew about all too well.

Before thoughts of her childhood could swamp her mind, potentially pushing her toward a panic attack like they still sometimes did, Susanna resolutely shoved them away. She was used to doing that. Had been doing it for most of her life.

What else could she do?

When she’d tried telling people what happened behind closed doors at her home, she’d been labeled a liar and a troublemaker.

Now those familiar aches and pains littered her body. They seemed to center around her arms and torso but … there was also pain between her legs.

Panic lit inside her.

Had she been …?

No.

She’d remember that.

Only …

Now that she’d thought it, memories began to flood her mind.

Too many.

Too fast.

Too difficult.

Air sawed in and out of her chest, and Susanna became aware of a beeping sound nearby.

“Wake up, Susanna,” a voice said, and she felt a hand rest lightly on her arm.

She knew that voice.

Usually, it wasn't soft and soothing. Usually, it was full of a rage she didn't understand but had gotten used to over the years. Usually, it was shooting insults at her. Insinuating that she was worthless, good for nothing, and a hindrance on society rather than a contributing member.

None of that was true, but she’d learned long ago not to bother standing up for herself. It never worked, only ever made things worse, so she took every one of those insults and did her best to pretend they didn't shoot through her heart and psyche like mini arrows.

“Can you hear me, Susanna? If you can, you have to wake up now,” the voice of her neighbor Cole Charleston urged. There was even a thread of worry to it even though she knew that had to be the furthest thing from what he was feeling.

He hated her. Plain and simple.

So, in return, she hated him too.

He was just another cocky, judgmental, arrogant jerk who thought she didn't matter.

The problem was, the more times she was told she didn't matter, the more she believed it.

“Sprinkles, wake up. Now,” Cole barked.

That obnoxious nickname was what did it. The last nudge her mind needed to snap itself out of its semi-conscious state.

Blinking open eyes that felt much too heavy, Susanna found herself surrounded by white. Too much white. It was on the walls, it was on the ceiling above her head, it was on the blanket thrown over her body.

People buzzed around her, amongst them was the one who had roused her from unconsciousness. The rest were nurses and doctors.

Was she … in a hospital?

That made sense given the pain she felt pulsing through her body, but … how did she get here?

The last thing she remembered was a man. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, with a ski mask pulled over his face so she couldn’t see his identity. She remembered hard hands shoving her up against a wall around the back of her apartment building when she returned from a quick walk to a small grocery store open twenty-four-seven. Remembered fighting but being overpowered. Remembered the sound of the zipper of his jeans being undone, it had seemed inordinately loud. She remembered her legs being shoved apart, begging him to stop, and the tearing feeling as he shoved inside her. Remembered crying as he grunted and thrust, his fists raining down on her when he was done, and then the sound of his footsteps as he ran off.

Panic tightened her chest, and she couldn’t breathe.

A relief.

In this moment, when Susanna felt like she was going to die that was what washed over her.

Death couldn’t be any worse than life, right?

Nurses fussed around her, but she couldn’t hear their words through the rushing in her ears. She saw one of them preparing a syringe with drugs she was sure would knock her out and she welcomed that. She didn't want to think, she wanted to disappear. It was only delaying the inevitable, but right now, she couldn’t care less.

“Come on, sprinkles, pull yourself together,” Cole said, leaning over the bar raised on the side of her bed. His brown eyes were dark but there was a thread of concern in them that she wasn't used to seeing.

It was that darn nickname that did it again.

It seemed to form a barrier between her and the panic raging inside her.

“Don’t call me sprinkles,” she forced the words out through a tight throat that ached in a way she associated with sobbing and pleading for mercy that never came.

Her words were rewarded with a smirk from her neighbor. Cole leaned his forearms on the bar on the side of her bed. “Make me.”

His obnoxious words provided a second of normalcy that she so badly needed, and her eyes rolled before she realized what she was doing. For the moment, her panic had receded enough that she could function, and she shook her head at the nurse holding the syringe. As much as it would be wonderful to delay the inevitable, she knew she couldn’t do that. She’d survived everything else life had thrown at her and somehow, she’d survive this too.

“I-I’m in the h-hospital,” she stammered, hating that her voice was weak and insubstantial, but she couldn’t summon enough strength to do anything about it.

“You are. Do you remember what happened?” Cole asked gently.

Susanna gave a shaky nod. She remembered, she just wished she didn't.

What she didn't understand was what Cole was doing there.

How did he even know she’d been attacked?

“D-did you find m-me?” she asked, wincing when her brow furrowed in confusion and pain spiked through her head.

Cole’s brow also furrowed. “No. Susanna, you came to my apartment. Hammered on my door, then passed out in my arms when I opened it.”

Why would she do that?

What possible reason would she have for going to her neighbor’s place? They didn't like each other, and while she pretended his barbs didn't hurt her and always tossed back insults of her own, she probably actually disliked him more than he did her. She hated him because he was just another person to treat her badly for no reason at all and she was tired of it.

“I don’t … why would I do that?” she asked. It literally made zero sense. She wouldn't go to Cole for anything because she knew he wouldn't offer help.

Only he had.

He’d not only called an ambulance or driven her to the hospital, but he’d stayed there.

Why?

Before Cole could offer an answer, if he even had one, because by the looks of things he was as confused as she was as to why she would seek him out when she was in trouble, the curtain to her cubicle in what she assumed was the emergency room was pulled back.

“Phillip!” she cried out when a cop she recognized walked through. Working as an advocate for victims of violent crimes, and as a psychologist who worked primarily with addicts, trying to help them work through their issues and get clean, she knew a lot of the local police force.

This was one of her favorites. While at first, they’d had a hint of a romantic relationship, she and Phillip had quickly realized they were better friends than anything else. Now there was no one she’d rather have come to take her statement.

“Hey, Suse,” he said as he hurried over to the bed, his blue eyes so warm and empathetic that it made tears well in her eyes.

She didn't cry.

Not since she was a small girl and quickly learned that nobody cared if you cried because people cared more about themselves than anyone else.

If tears were pointless, there was no point in shedding them.

Tears weren't going to change what had happened to her. They wouldn't undo anything. Wouldn't take away the pain that throbbed through her body. Wouldn't take away the memories. So, she valiantly fought them back as Phillip’s arms curled around her shoulders, tugging her against his chest.

Nothing could fix what had happened tonight, her already damaged soul had received more wounds.

How many more could it take before she finally broke?