Lauras truth, p.1
Laura's Truth, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Regan Black
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
About Laura's Truth
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Free Read
About the Author
About Laura's Truth
Can an undercover bride breathe life into a man presumed dead?
All reports label CIA officer Andrew Garner as an enemy of the state, responsible for the ambush that ended his life and the lives of three innocent soldiers.
The reports are dead wrong.
Andrew survived. Barely. Living under the radar, without any support, he’s finally tracked down the real killer and he’s ready to clear his name.
Army counterintelligence officer Laura Talbot’s investigation settled on Garner as the cause of the horrific ambush. When rumors surface that he might be alive and operating in the shadows, she follows the trail to separate fact from fiction.
What she hoped was a case of mistaken identity quickly turns far more sinister. In searching for justice, Laura and Andrew must find a way to trust each other - or they won't survive the powers determined to silence them.
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In Regan’s books you’ll meet strong, tough heroes and the courageous women they’ll do anything to protect!
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Prologue
Cypress Security Office Haleswood, SC
“This looks serious,” Ross Carpenter said, joining his partners Rick Dryer and Eva Battaglia in the Haleswood office of their private investigations firm.
Rick’s new wife Nicole stood near the window, her gaze on the street below. They rarely had reason to either exclude or involve their respective spouses, so naturally Ross wondered if this meeting involved any of the skeletons rattling around in Nicole’s past.
“It is,” Eva replied, waving him over to her side of the desk. “Nicole caught these during Rick’s last case.”
“The bank bag thief in Charleston? We closed that and turned it over a week ago,” Ross said. “Did we miss something?”
“Nothing related to the case we were hired for,” Rick answered. His head tilted toward his wife. “But she found a connection to us that I’d overlooked.”
Ross couldn’t remember a time when Rick had overlooked anything. Not during their military service and definitely not since they’d all transitioned to civilian life. “Why call me up here just to dance around the issue? You’re all acting as if you’re afraid to tell me something.”
Rick’s somber face twisted into something resembling sympathy. “It’s Andrew Garner,” he stated. “In Charleston.”
“That’s impossible,” Ross denied it immediately. “No. Garner…” Had turned traitor on the other side of the world and been ripped apart with shrapnel courtesy of an improvised explosive device. He didn’t survive his injuries. Ross had seen the remains. The scorched clothing, the blood. “Garner is dead.” His voice turned hard under the onslaught of the grim memories.
“Take a look, boss,” Eva said.
He bristled. She was using the unflappable, utterly calm voice she used with irate or panicked clients. He was neither. Garner was dead.
Eva enlarged a segment of the picture, zeroing in on a man seated near the garden wall of a sidewalk café. In Charleston, South Carolina. No way.
“A doppelganger,” Ross said, ignoring the sarcastic laugh Rick couldn’t smother. “One of Garner’s strengths was his common, forgettable face, remember?”
“Have you forgotten his face?” Eva hit a key and the entire series of Nicole’s surveillance photos filled the screen.
He bit back the harsh retort. The rage bubbling in his system wasn’t Eva’s fault. They’d nearly lost the entire team out there thanks to Garner’s greed. Over Eva’s monitor, he met Rick’s gaze. “What do you want from me?”
“Permission to pursue and verify,” Rick began. “Nicole and I can—”
“Permission denied.”
Eva sucked in a breath. Ross had never been a dictator. They’d come to this venture as a team and though they might disagree, they always discussed. Oh, well, first time for everything.
Garner was dead. This lookalike couldn’t become a distraction.
Ross felt Rick’s glare biting into the top of his head as he bent low for a closer look at the pictures. Damn, the resemblance was uncanny. If it was Garner—highly unlikely—a miraculous survival only made him more dangerous.
“You see it, too,” Eva stated.
He swore. Striding to the window, he forced himself to think rationally, like a leader. A leader who wanted to keep his people alive.
“Yeah. I see it,” he admitted. “Let me call in a favor.” He had to smooth the feathers he’d ruffled.
“Who would that be?” Rick demanded. “I know you’ve got connections all over, but who would you trust besides us to verify someone like Garner?”
“It’s not Garner,” Ross insisted. It couldn’t be. The man was dust, barring some deceptive and perfectly executed plan. Either way, Ross would not expose anyone on his team to the bastard again. Once had been more than enough. He turned to Nicole. “Why is this man familiar to you?”
Nicole swiveled, her expression a mask of endless patience. “I saw that man a few times when I was with the pharmaceutical company. I’m sure Allie would remember him, too. She might even know his name.”
“A few times.” Ross clenched his teeth. Having spent so much of her life looking over her shoulder for enemies, Nicole had a gift for remembering faces. He couldn’t ignore her opinion. “And he sticks out in your memory because?”
“Because he felt dangerous.” She confirmed his suspicions. “When I mentioned seeing him before, I thought Rick would pass out.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Rick muttered.
“So says your pride.” Nicole turned to Eva. “He went white.”
Eva nodded, understanding. “I was glad to be sitting down when you pointed him out to me. And I only heard the stories after the fact.”
Nicole glanced at her husband. “Rick told me I didn’t want to know what happened.”
“You don’t,” Eva agreed.
“She’s right.” Ross raked a hand through his hair. “Was he ever in contact with anyone involved with the case we just closed in Charleston?”
“No,” Rick replied.
“This was the only time he showed up during our surveillance,” Nicole added. “I went through all the photos. Best I can tell it was just a fluke encounter.”
Ross wished he believed in those. “This is crazy,” he insisted, trying to believe it, and failing. “I was there,” he muttered. “I saw him die.”
Rick stepped forward. “Then why can’t I look into it?”
On another oath, Ross rubbed at the tension gripping the back of his neck. He came around and sank into one of the empty chairs in front of Eva’s desk. Looking up at Rick and Nicole, his stomach clutched with worry about the potential fallout. Together Rick and Nicole had found an unexpected happiness. He refused to put that in jeopardy.
“I believe the bastard is dead. Everything we saw, every after-action report, agrees with that conclusion. But if anyone could find a way to cheat the Grim Reaper and cause problems, it’d be Garner. I won’t take that chance with any of you. It was too close the first time.”
Rick bobbed his head. “If he recognizes one of us, you think he’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
Gun, knife, or improvised weapon, Garner wouldn’t hesitate to kill. “That’s how he works. Worked.” Ross rapped the knuckles of his clenched fists on the arms of the chair. “He wouldn’t have a choice. You and I pose a major security risk to a surviving Garner. How old are those photos?”
“Forty-eight hours,” Nicole replied.
“He might be long gone already,” Rick said.
“The man who looks like him might be long gone,” Ross corrected. “I’ll make a call and let you know what I hear. Odds are this is one bizarre misunderstanding.” God help them if it wasn’t. If Garner had survived, it wouldn’t have been due to the divine intervention of a benevolent god.
“All right.”
“Promise me you’ll stay away from this.” Ross looked first at Rick, then Eva, and finally Nicole. He didn’t want anyone using her as a loophole to poke around in this situation. “I mean it.” The vice grip squeezing the air from his chest loosened as each of them reluctantly gave their word.
Ross pushed himself up and out of the chair, feeling a hundred years older than when he’d walked into the room minutes ago.
“One thing, boss,” Rick stopped him when he reached the door.
“What’s that?”
“Promise us you’ll do the same. I need to know you
“I promise,” Ross said. “We all have better things to do than search for a ghost who wants company in the grave.”
Chapter 1
Thursday May 22, Charleston, South Carolina
Drew Garner would never have willingly chosen this season to visit Charleston, South Carolina. In June the city was full of tourists, cameras, and—God help him—brides with full entourages. Too bad his target wasn’t as discreet.
Though he successfully avoided most of the subtle security cameras around town, it was impossible to dodge the myriad photographers eager to document each minute of vacations, weddings, and every perfect flower blossom.
With too many cameras for him to steal and too many people to follow and corrupt the pictures, the whole thing was obnoxious. Worse, it meant trouble. He felt it like an itch at the back of his neck. He’d been officially deceased for years and, for his benefit and the safety of others, it should stay that way.
Charleston was too close to people who were both capable and willing to stop his heart for good this time. If they got wind that they’d been duped years ago, he couldn’t imagine it would take long for them to correct the error.
It might already be too late. This morning he’d suspected someone was following him, though he had yet to pinpoint the precise individual. More likely a team, but even a team could unravel if Drew only identified one member—just one weak link in the system.
A smart man would leave, walk away from the temptation responsible for dragging him into this gently decorated hell. But Drew had to stay, had to seize the opportunity in front of him, or he’d always be looking over his shoulder. Freedom was a lovely ideal, and something no one valued enough until it was gone.
He scanned the crowded marketplace, waiting for his target to make contact. He didn’t need to check his watch to know the man was nearly ten minutes late for his morning trek for coffee. Drew couldn’t just wait around and serve himself up to whoever was tailing him, and he couldn’t walk away and risk missing the meet.
As yet another carriage full of tourists ambled around the corner and away from Market Street, he caught the unmistakable clicking of camera shutters. Drew stifled the dread rising like the tide inside him. Anonymity was an unattainable goal in the age of social media. He knew it, accepted it, and took precautions to survive it.
Still, even a dead man could dream of simpler times gone by.
He walked on, the risks dogging his heels. He needed a cover, someone to lend doubt to whoever had eyes on him. The people in his past, those who’d celebrated his early demise, remembered him as a man who worked alone.
Drew scanned the vendors and customers nearby for an appropriate distraction. Dresses, signs with southern sayings, two t-shirt stands, and a candy vendor were his closest options. While the dresses were popular with young women, he didn’t see making an easy play there among the girlfriends and mothers shopping with daughters. Two women weren’t easily divided by one man oozing charm.
He’d been overseas more than stateside and the sayings on those kitschy signs weren’t familiar enough despite his forty-eight hours in the area. The guy at the t-shirt booth was an option and, based on the stock, he looked like he could talk patriotism and free enterprise all day long. But it was the sudden collapse of the food vendor’s display that offered his best solution for evasion.
He moved closer to the sudden chaos as a mother and her young son tried to gather up the landslide of candy and treats scattered across the cement floor. Tubs labeled as beignets and lemon cooler cookies were stacked beside cones of sugared pecans and candy-coated almonds. The vendor soothed the little boy as she righted the table, gracious to a fault.
That fit Drew’s vague recollection of Southern hospitality. Then the table covering shifted and he caught sight of the strap tied to the broken support and realized his mistake. The boy hadn’t toppled the display, the vendor had done it. He’d been here two days and hadn’t seen an underhanded sales tactic like that used before.
Good thing he didn’t believe in coincidence. The vendor had to be tied to the team tailing him. Whoever had found him, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe they wouldn’t want to know why he’d come to Charleston.
He wasn’t inclined to share, or to be turned from what might be his only chance to right a serious wrong. Giving the frazzled mother his best smile, Drew placed a stack of cookie tubs on the righted table and eased away, only to trip over a broom and hit the pavement hard on his hip.
“Oh, my. I’m so sorry,” a woman said, but her voice didn’t carry any remorse or any of the warm southern drawl of the locals.
Survival instinct in high gear, Drew used the momentum of the fall, rolling backward and over his shoulder, coming to his feet near an older woman with ebony skin weaving local sweetgrass into artistic baskets and décor accents. She waved her hands, shooing him away, and he danced backward, managing to leave her display mostly intact.
A man shouted and he jerked around, coming face to face with a carriage horse. He spun out of the way and across the street, ducking into the nearest shop for cover. Another mistake, he thought as wind chimes made of thin slices of colorful geodes clattered musically around him. Christ, this city was worse than an unmarked minefield. With a well-practiced impersonation of a fumbling tourist, he apologized, aiming for the displays at the back of the shop. Removing his ball cap, he stuffed it into his pocket as he shrugged out of his windbreaker, tying it around his waist.
He heard the door open again and looked for an assist from a reflective surface, but came up empty, finding himself surrounded only by stones and fantastical pewter statues. He picked up a large piece of amethyst, cut and shaped into a bookend, testing the heft. Good enough for a fight in close quarters. He didn’t want a scene, didn’t want to cause any damage, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be hauled in by anyone representing authority.
Moving down the display of book ends, he edged toward the back room, eyeing the lock. Praise God for old buildings and comfortable, confident shop owners. The door jamb would crumble with a hard look. He just had to get over there.
“Mr. Garner?”
He didn’t so much as twitch. He wasn’t Garner, hadn’t been for years. Today he was one more husband desperately seeking the right purple bookends for his wife’s library.
“Mr. Garner? Sir? I believe you dropped your wallet.” Good play, but his wallet was secure behind the zipper inside his jacket. He had to make a conscious effort to stay relaxed as he felt the screws tighten. It was a mighty short list of people from his past who could have found him so quickly. A shorter list of people who’d known him by that name.
The woman speaking was gaining on his position. Same flat Midwestern inflections as the woman with the broom. Damn it. He knew better and still he’d assumed the people tailing him would’ve been mostly men. He heard the shuffle of footsteps as customers moved, felt their gazes on him.
There was a camera over the register in the center of the store. Another would be aimed at the office door. He peered over his shoulder as the woman cut off the angle for the stairs to an upper-level showroom. Her expert move, her familiar face, brought the worst possible scenario to glaring reality. Somehow Ross Carpenter had found him. Found him and contacted Army Counterintelligence Command before Drew’s job was done.
Damn it.
And the Army hadn’t sent just any officer in response. No, they’d sent his worst nightmare: Army Counterintelligence officer Laura Talbot.
There wasn’t time to worry how Ross had realized Drew was not just alive but in Charleston, seeing as Charleston was hours from the Cypress Security offices. No, Drew’s concern revolved around the immediate future, surviving the here and now. Had Ross called in a favor or assembled a take-down team?
“Mr. Garner?”
She was directly behind him, likely holding out a wallet they both knew didn’t belong to him. If she reached out, got a hand on him at all, it was over. Anyone in her position, with her training, would be lethal in hand-to-hand combat, not to mention armed with a concealed handgun. A fight meant more unwanted attention than he could afford.
“Sir?” She tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hmm? Yes?” He shifted, and turning he caught her knee with his, gaining a scant precious inch or two. Enough room to flee.
