Betrayed

Prologue

A cool breeze skipped across shimmering oranges and reds, a brilliant sunset reflected on gentle waves. The wind caught Laura McIvor's copper hair and wrapped it around her face. Darryl Hansen brushed it away from her cheek. Her emerald eyes locked with his and her heart fluttered. Would he do it now?

But no, his boyish face broke into a broad grin. He clasped her slim hand and tried to lead her down the beach. Laughing, she jerked away. A gull called to its mate as her feet pounded the sand. She glanced over her shoulder to see if he chased her.

Grinning, he shouted, "Hey! Come back here!" Five strides later, he grabbed her elbow, and she spun around into his arms, their laughter fading as, chin to chin, their eyes met again. He paused for a taut moment as foamy surf whooshed across their toes.

Slowly he drew away. Lacing his fingers with hers, he aimed for an iron bench facing the Pacific. When she sat, he kept hold of her hand and dropped to one knee before her.

"Laura," he murmured. "I was wondering..."

"Yes?" She felt as though she were melting into his indigo eyes. She'd been waiting months for this question.

His breathing was slow, expectant. "Will you marry me, Laura McIvor?"

She paused while a wave crashed onto the sand and flowed back, a white froth. "Yes, Darryl Hansen," she breathed. "I will marry you."

Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders. His fingers dug into her flesh.

"Stop, you're hurting me!" she cried.

He began to shake her. The sound of surf and smell of salt retreated. Light burned against her eyes.

"Miss McIvor, wake up!" A harsh male voice broke through her consciousness. "I'm Special Agent Sam Perkins of the FBI. We're going to search your room."

Wincing, Laura forced her eyes open. The stench of stale tobacco choked her as she peered at the granite face of a big man with gray at his temples. Laura twisted hard and broke free of his hands pressing her shoulders. "Who are you?" she screeched, pulling further away.

"FBI ma'am." He whipped out his identification and held it in front of her face. "This is my partner, Paul Newberg." As tall as Perkins, Newberg looked like he pumped iron four hours a day.

"WhatŠWhat's going on?" Laura asked, clutching the blanket to her pounding heart.

"We're executing a search warrant in relation to the alleged criminal activities of your father." While he spoke, doors slammed against their frames in the far recesses of the mansion. Men's voices drifted in from the hall.

Laura sat up. Pulling her knees against her chest, she had the odd feeling that the men in her bedroom were a nightmare. Any second now she'd be back on the beach with Darryl. When they started dumping her clothes onto the carpet, she knew the nightmare was reality.

Daddy's criminal activities? He was a computer scientist, probably the most brilliant in the country. As far as Laura knew, he was guilty of nothing more than having no personality.

A porcelain cat shattered against the foot of her sleigh bed, followed by a bottle of perfume. With the breath-snatching odor came a fury that chased away her initial fear. She shouted, "Would you mind being more careful with my things!"

Perkins's expression darkened. "After what your father's done, don't expect much, lady."

"You're insane! He hasn't done anything."

Wiping his palms against the legs of his black fatigues, Perkins ignored her and slid back the closet door. Laura's mouth formed a hard line as her business suits landed on top of the growing pile that represented her normal, secure life. She clamped her teeth together when Newberg's size elevens trudged across silk and rayon to pull open a door on the left. An instant later, every stuffed animal from her collection bounced into the wreckage.

Tigger fell on his head. Him she got when she was eight. Pooh landed on Tigger's belly and rolled to a resting-place on a white silk blouse with a boot print on it. Mickey ricocheted off a wall and ended up at the base of her hope chest.

A gift on her first birthday, Mickey had been a special friend all her life. Though Laura had turned thirty-two last May, some nights Mickey still slept in her arms.

"Perkins."

The agent followed Newberg's pointed glance to the stuffed animals on the floor.

"What do you think?" His words held malicious meaning.

Perkins rubbed a wide hand over his chin. "The warrant says search everything that could hold a computer disk. Go for it."

A grin slid across Newburg's face. He pulled a jagged knife from its sheath and stabbed Tigger. Horrified, Laura watched her childhood friends hacked to shreds. When Newberg reached for Mickey, she let out an anguished cry.

Newburg crumpled to his knees as Laura's body crashed against the backs of his legs. The knife flew behind the bed. Gripping Mickey, Laura bolted for the door. Perkins twisted to grab her, but his hand slipped off her satin pajamas.

"Come back here!" he bellowed.

Laura pounded down the arched hallway and lunged into her parents' room. Her face slammed into yellow FBI letters on a black jacket. The agent spun then held himself in check before he drove the rifle butt into her face.

"Leave her alone!" Alice McIvor shouted, her slim form coming upright from a Monterey chair. Laura rushed into her mother's arms.

Red faced, Newburg strode toward Laura, his hand outstretched. Laura clutched Mickey to her chest. She slipped behind her mother's stiff back.

"Give me the toy!" Newburg demanded.

Laura glanced around for a way to escape.

"What's going on?" the guard asked.

"We think there might be something inside the toy," Perkins told him. "She let us rip open every one of them except that one. There's got to be a reason she's protecting it."

"I've had him all my life," Laura ground out through clenched teeth. "There's no way you're going to hurt him."

Newburg and the guard grabbed Alice McIvor and yanked her away from her daughter. When Perkins reached for the stuffed animal, Laura whipped around to press her body against the plastered wall, pinning Mickey to it. The FBI agent spun Laura around. Mrs. McIvor screamed. Delivering a well-placed kick to his groin, Laura sprinted toward the door.

Newberg's heavy hand bit into her upper arm. Laura stumbled, and he pinned her to the Navajo rug. Alice McIvor broke free like a lioness protecting a cub and sank her teeth into the back of his neck. The other two agents dove in to help, and the bedroom became a frenzy of screams, curses, and flailing limbs.

Jonathan Corrigan's deceptively boyish face had a grim cast as he followed the macadam driveway through two acres of manicured lawn. For over a year he'd worked this investigation. He almost had the case cracked, but a piece of the puzzle was still missing. Last night, he pleaded with the director to give him more time. He should have saved his breath because this morning the CIA had informed the FBI about the activities of Harrison McIvor.

A friend at the Justice Department tipped Corrigan off when the search warrant was issued. He'd burned rubber getting here. Rounding a curve, he saw four black sedans crowding the space before the Spanish-style villa. Cursing silently, he thumped the steering wheel with a fist. All he could do now was damage control.

Corrigan knew every detail of the white stucco house with arched doors and windows. Below the clay-tile roof, he could see shadows of men moving about the bedrooms on the second floor. He knew which belonged to Laura, which belonged to her parents. The estate was more than a computer scientist could afford. It had drawn attention that Harrison McIvor would have been smarter to avoid.

Corrigan's powerful legs crossed the tiled patio in three bounds. He flashed his ID, and the FBI guard stood away from the door.

The instant Corrigan stepped into the front entry, he heard hoarse screams from upstairs. A gaping hole in the living room plaster told him this was a revenge search. McIvor had made fools of the powers that be. They were repaying him by destroying his home.

Corrigan bounded up the curved staircase using the iron rail to boost his momentum. There was no point in holding secrets any longer. Everything had been blown wide open.

In the master bedroom, Schwarzenegger-Newburg and Greer, a short, stout African-American, had Alice McIvor pinned against the bedroom wall. The refined lady was writhing and crying, desperate to get to her daughter.

Laura's face was pressed into the carpet, Perkins with his knee on her back, digging under her. Her face was blue, soaked with sweat and tears.

"Get off of her!" Corrigan bellowed.

His face equally covered in sweat, Perkins looked up. "Not till she gives me the mouse."

Corrigan's sharp kick brought a howl of pain. Clutching his side, Perkins rolled off Laura as Corrigan turned his attention to the agents holding Mrs. McIvor. "Let her go."

Newburg released the woman into Greer's care and moved toward the CIA agent. "Now just wait one minute, you'veŠ"

Newburg's head snapped back as Corrigan grabbed his windpipe. "I'm not negotiating with you morons. The girl has nothing to do with it. Now get out!"

Newburg gulped and rubbed his throat. When Corrigan shot a sharp look at Greer's brown face, he released Alice McIvor. She rushed to her daughter, and the women retreated to the safety of Mrs. McIvor's bed, crying in each other's arms.

Sending killing glances at Corrigan, the FBI agents shuffled out of the room.

Corrigan righted an antique chair and placed it near Laura. Sitting, he reached for her hands. She turned loose of her mother and faced him, dropping Mickey to the quilt as she moved.

She watched him, grateful for a rescue, but full of questions he had hoped he'd never have to answer. The original plan was for him to disappear with his secret intact and not even testify. The FBI had sure fixed all that.

"You okay?"

Laura nodded. Without thinking, he gently brushed a tear from her cheek. What was he doing? The game was over. No need to pretend he loved her. But as he looked into those shimmering emerald eyes, he felt a deep fierce dread.

"What's this about, Darryl?" Her words, a mere whisper, cut him to the core.

How could he tell her that the candlelight dinners, soft looks and tender words had been the CIA's means of getting close to her parents? He let his eyes drift over her flushed face, down to her quivering lips, and he felt like pond scum.

"What's the reason for this?" Mrs. McIvor broke the spell.

Corrigan shot a sharp glance at the older woman before returning to Laura's fragile face. Her desperate expression clung to hope like a drowning man to a bit of passing driftwood. She silently begged him to make it all right.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Corrigan released Laura's hands. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak the awful truth. "My name is not Darryl Hansen. I'm a member of a law enforcement agency that's investigating yourŠ" he glanced briefly at Mrs. McIvorŠ"your father."

Laura's eyebrows knit together. "You're not a high school PE teacher?"

"No."

"You're leaving me?" She spoke slowly like someone half-awake.

Her soft words sliced through him. Why did he feel so guilty for doing his sworn duty?

Suddenly, he noticed that Laura's cheeks had turned translucent white. Was she going into shock? He wanted to reach out and hold her close. Instead, Alice McIvor tightened her arms around Laura.

Laura reached for Mickey and stared at him for a moment that seemed forever to Corrigan. Raising her chin and blinking, she said, "The talks and the walks," she swallowed convulsively, "the hugs were all part of your job?"

Color rushed into Laura's face, and Corrigan shied further back into the chair. "I wouldn't put it like that. You're a wonderful person. IŠ"

"The shared secrets, the dreams were just playing along?"

Corrigan bit his bottom lip. "If I could only tell you what was at stake, you'd understand."

"The flowers? Did you use your money, or the government's?"

His silence gave her the answer.

A sharp crack echoed through the house. Corrigan touched his cheek where the imprint of a hand blossomed a brilliant red. He clamped his jaw until the muscles protested. He was a CIA agent. He couldn't afford to have feelings.

He stood up and strode out of the bedroom before she could see the pain in his eyes. Laura's bedroom door stood ajar. He paused and caught a whiff of Elige perfume. He had to get out of there.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, six FBI agents watched him.

"Your face looks a little red there," taunted Perkins.

Corrigan ignored him.

"Got any more hearts lined up to break, or you taking a holiday after this one?" asked another.

Corrigan shouldered between them, refusing to be baited.

"Hey, how was it being undercover with her?" Perkins called after him, laughing.

Corrigan spun on his heels. Perkins's head snapped back and blood gushed from his nose.

Corrigan's flinty eyes darted from man to man. Each stupid grin vaporized. Finally, he turned again to Perkins. "Where is Harrison McIvor?"

Pressing a handkerchief against his nose, he muttered, "He wasn't here."

Corrigan's top lip curled into a sneer. "Oh, that's obvious. You've torn the whole house apart, and the only suspect you came up with was a stuffed mouse. Well hotshot, if you'd bothered to touch bases with me, I could have told you Harrison wouldn't be home tonight. After this fiasco, he'll be out of the country within hours. That man has the power to bring this nation to its knees. Don't you think he has an escape plan?" He clenched a meaty fist, begging one of them to make a move. "You've destroyed a year's work."

A moment later, he picked his way through the debris and paused at the door. "Let me make this perfectly clear. If anyone of you so much as lays a finger on that girl, I'll be back."

Half an hour later, Laura pulled loose from her mother's arms, clutched Mickey to her chest and wandered back to her own room, her feet shuffling as if they wore chains. The bedroom door clicked shut behind her. Skirting the mound of clothing on the floor, she brushed past her overturned hope chest. Her no hope chest.

Leaving the lights on, Laura crawled into bed and pulled her knees up to her chin. She folded the blankets over her head, the little mouse next to her face. Once again, he soaked up her tears.

About the Authors...

Rosey Dow is the author of the Christy Award-winning mystery Reaping the Whirlwind. Rosey, who with her husband was for many years, a missionary to Granada, has also written Em's Only Chance, Eyes of the Heart, Lisa's Broken Arrow, and Megan's Choice.

Andrew Snaden is a Certified General Accountant who lives on an 80-acre farm in Prince George, British Columbia, Canada. Andrew has written articles for Christian magazines such as ON MISSION, THE EVANGELICAL BEACON, and LIVE. BETRAYED is his first published novel. Andrew and his wife have one daughter.

Rosey and Andrew met through an internet Christian writer's group. They are currently working on a romantic mystery about Canadian firefighters. Theirs is strictly an internet relationship. They have never met in person.