Unseen, p.1
Unseen, page 1
Cover image Rear View of Female Doctor Rushing Down the Corridor of the Hospital Ward © SimonSkafar, istockphoto.com
Cover design by Tara Leong
Cover design copyright © 2023 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2023 by Traci Hunter Abramson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., PO Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Name: Traci Hunter Abramson
Title: Unseen / Traci Hunter Abramson
Description: American Fork, UT : Covenant Communications, Inc. [2023]
Identifiers: Library of Congress Control Number 2022949626 | 978-1-52442-381-0
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022949626
First Printing: August 2023
For Lara and Scott Abramson
Thank you for helping me find the magic.
Acknowledgments
For every book I write, it amazes me how many people give so freely of their talents throughout the process. Thank you to my amazing editor, Samantha Millburn, to Shara Meredith and Amy Parker for your ceaseless efforts in the marketing and sales of this book, and to the rest of the Covenant family, who do so much throughout the process.
Thanks to Lara and Scott Abramson for the many brainstorming sessions as these characters and their story began to take shape.
A special thanks also to those who helped me through the early drafts of this book: Ashley Gebert, H. Y. Gregor, Emmaline Jackson, Connor Olsen, Daniel Quilter, Eliza Sanders, Ann Feinstein, Millie Hast, Michael Niemann, Jack Stewart, Steve Stratton, Kyla Beecroft, Kori Pratt, Paige Edwards, and Ellie Whitney.
I also want to thank Sian Bessey and Sarah Eden for helping me keep my sanity through the writing process, even when I have to write kissing scenes. Thanks also to the CIA Publication Classification Review Board for your continued support.
Finally, thank you to my family for supporting me in doing what I love and to the readers who continue to make this career possible.
Praise for Traci Hunter Abramson
“Author Traci Hunter Abramson, herself a former CIA employee, begins the novel with Manuel’s compelling origin story. Framed for a shootout at a local Target, Manuel is given a choice – life in prison, or a life in public service. Based on the heroics on display throughout the novel, it’s clearly a job that suits him, though it’s not without its drawbacks. Abramson’s intimate portrayal of Manuel’s psychological state is deeply felt without being overly sentimental. ‘My job is very solitary,’ Manuel admits. ‘Sometimes the Lord is the only person I really have to talk to.’ In a surprisingly hard-hitting scene later, he imagines what it would be like to take a walk through the woods on a sunny day, ‘without any memory of his responsibilities or how he had come to be a guardian.’
“Also in play is Xavier Argueta, a CIA informant who is in mortal danger almost from the get-go. Can he be trusted? After a series of harrowing scenes, it seems that Jaguar Negro will go to just about any lengths to get him back. Abramson presents Laura and Manuel with some gut-wrenching choices en route to the book’s satisfying, twisty end.”
—BestThrillers.com
“Unseen, the seventh novel in Traci Hunter Abramson’s Guardian series, is a thrilling tale of love and treachery in South America. With realistic, relatable characters, a fast-paced plot, and plenty of intrigue and nail-biting suspense, this book has it all. It’s also a clean mystery, suitable for readers of all ages, with no swearing, adult content, or explicit violence. Unseen, though part of a series, can be read as a stand-alone novel that will have readers scrambling to get their hands on the rest of them. If you’re looking for another great page-turner to curl up with in front of the fire, you won’t want to miss this one.”
—Readers’ Favorite five-star review
“Heart-pounding action, a sweet romance, and an exotic Central American location. Unseen has it all. No one writes romantic suspense better than Traci Hunter Abramson.”
—Sian Ann Bessey
Praise for the Guardian Series:
Not Dead Yet is full of action, undercover agents, and nail-biting scenes. Traci Hunter Abramson does an outstanding job of grabbing the reader’s attention from the very beginning. The pace throughout the story does not lose its momentum, which makes this one a fast and fun read. The characters are incredibly likeable and down to earth. The conversations between Cassidy and Donovan are particularly enjoyable, and the development of their relationship is so much fun to witness. The story itself is incredibly action-packed with a little bit of romance thrown in but not enough to distract from the main plotline. The author does a great job at keeping this spy thriller a clean read, suitable for various types of readers. And regardless of the fact that this book is the sixth in the series, the previous books are recapped very well, and it makes the storyline very easy to follow. This is definitely a heart-pounding suspenseful adventure that you won’t want to put down!”
—InD’Tale Magazine, five-star review
Five-Star NetGalley Reviews for Not Dead Yet:
“I love looking forward to this author’s books! They never disappoint, and they always leave my heart feeling full and satisfied.”
—Lori Parrish
“Traci Hunter Abramson writes some of the best adventure and intrigue combined with romance. This was another great one.”
—Angela Burton
“Traci Hunter Abramson is an AMAZING author. There isn’t a single book of hers that I haven’t turned into an instant favorite. Not Dead Yet is no exception. I have loved this whole series and can’t wait until the next one. It’s full of suspense, love, and heartache and will leave you impatiently waiting for the next one!! Definitely recommend!!”
—Amber Russell
Prologue
Manuel Banegas exited the back door of the Mexican restaurant, the mouthwatering scents of fresh tortillas, fried chimichangas, and sizzling meat following him into the humid air that screamed summer in Alabama. He wasn’t sure which was worse, walking home after the lunch shift when the sun was still blazing or working until after midnight when the streets were dark.
The door closed behind him only to open a moment later. The restaurant owner called out to him. “Manuel. Espérate.” Diego held out a plastic bag bulging with takeout containers. “Take this,” he continued in Spanish.
Manuel lifted his eyebrows as he accepted the offering. Diego wasn’t quick to give away food. “Where did this come from?” Manuel asked in Spanish.
“A couple of customers forgot to tell Maria they needed corn tortillas for their flautas. Take these home to your family. I added some rice and beans too.”
Gratitude swelled inside Manuel. Since his father’s death two years ago, money had been beyond tight, practically nonexistent. Emotions clogged his throat, and he had to swallow before he managed to speak. “Gracias.”
“De nada.” Diego waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He headed through the alley that separated two strips of businesses in the shopping center. He was halfway to the main road when his cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his front pocket to answer it.
His eleven-year-old sister’s voice carried over the line, her words in their native Spanish. “Are you off work yet?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I need you to pick up milk on your way home,” Daniela said.
The mere thought of turning around and walking to the opposite end of the shopping center exhausted him. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so. You know how Ramiro and Andrés get if they can’t have cereal in the morning.”
Manuel did know. His youngest brothers liked their routines. With Manuel, their mom, and their other two siblings working all day, the task of babysitting them fell to Daniela. He supposed the least he could do was make her life a little easier. “I’ll walk over to Target to pick some up.”
“Gracias.”
“I’ll be home in a little while.” Manuel hung up the phone and reversed directions until he reached the spot where the alley ended at the back wall of Target, then he made his way past the empty loading dock.
Somewhere nearby, tires squealed. A shout followed.
Manuel rounded the corner and turned into the nearly empty side parking lot. A dozen cars were parked by the side of the building, and two men stood on the sidewalk, both of them only a few years older than him, one with dark hair, one blond.
Shopping bags littered the sidewalk at their feet, and the blond had a look of absolute panic on his face.
The dark-haired one shoved the other man forward. “Go! Get to the car!”
A moment later, someone screamed.
An engine revved, and a blue Camaro appeared and made a quick stop before turning i
“Gun!” Manuel yelled, first in Spanish and then in English.
The dark-haired man responded instantly by pulling a pistol from his belt.
Guns in broad daylight. This couldn’t really be happening. But it was.
The man pulled his companion behind a car and yelled at Manuel. “Duck!”
Manuel was way ahead of him. He had already darted toward a pickup truck as indiscernible shouts carried from the front parking lot, the lot completely obstructed from view.
Car doors slammed, and more shouts carried through the air. Gunshots followed. The odd ping of bullets against metal vibrated and jolted Manuel back to the night he and his father had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Gunfire, shouts, clashing gang bandannas. Manuel had walked away from the gang shooting traumatized. His father hadn’t walked away at all.
“I thought you said they wouldn’t find me.” The blond man’s voice wobbled.
Another shot fired, this one hitting the building behind them.
“How did they find you?” Keeping his body low, the dark-haired man pressed himself against the front of the car he was hiding behind, his gun still in his hand. “They have to be tracking you somehow. Do you have a fitness tracker or any other electronics?”
Even from several yards away, Manuel couldn’t miss the guilty expression that stole over the blond’s face.
“I didn’t think they knew to look for me.”
Fury spewed through the dark-haired man’s voice. “What did you do?”
The blond reached into his pocket and produced a cell phone.
“You idiot.” He snatched it out of his hand and smashed it onto the ground.
The blond man flinched.
The man in the Camaro fired several shots. Then he climbed out and raced forward to get a better angle.
Manuel called out instinctively. “Watch out!”
Gunfire exploded in the air, more bullets impacting cars and the side wall of Target.
The gun-wielding man by the Camaro shot again. Then his weapon clicked. Empty.
In one swift movement, the dark-haired man popped up, raised his gun, and fired. The man by the Camaro collapsed to the ground.
“Run!” The dark-haired man grabbed the blond man by the arm and pushed him into motion. The dark-haired man then squeezed off another shot before he followed, both of them sprinting toward Manuel.
Manuel should run, too, but where? The space between the pickup truck he was hiding behind and the back corner of the building was too big, too exposed for him to run through it safely.
Another car door slammed, and the driver of the Camaro appeared. He pulled out a gun and aimed.
“Get down!” Manuel grabbed the blond to keep him from continuing on.
The other man dropped down and rolled the last few yards to the pickup, gunfire piercing the air and flying at where he had been a moment ago. “Where did you come from?” he asked Manuel.
“The alley back there.”
“Where does it go?”
“It cuts through the shopping center to the main road, or there’s a path that leads into the neighborhood behind here.”
The dark-haired man jutted his chin toward the blond. “Get ready to run.”
More shots fired, bullets hitting the truck. Footsteps neared.
Sirens screeched in the distance, which meant help was coming, but Manuel doubted it would arrive before the driver reached them.
As though he had a similar thought, the dark-haired man peeked around the side of the truck and fired. He jerked back for a second. Then he popped up and fired again. The second man by the Camaro collapsed against the pavement.
The sirens grew louder, and a police car turned down the access road leading to Target.
“Go!” the dark-haired man shouted.
The blond took two steps and tripped on an uneven spot on the sidewalk, causing his friend to run into him. The man’s pistol dropped from his hand.
More concerned about getting out of there than the gun that now lay on the sidewalk in front of him, Manuel started to follow right as the dark-haired man leaned down to pick up his weapon. Both of them stumbled, and the gun skittered underneath the pickup.
The police car turned into the parking lot.
The man squatted to retrieve his weapon, but he couldn’t reach it. Leaving it where it lay, he straightened, grabbed the blond’s arm, and rushed around the corner of the building.
Manuel followed.
Tires skidded.
Then a policeman yelled, “Freeze!”
* * *
Guilty.
Manuel still couldn’t believe it. He had helped two men survive the shootout at Target, and he had been left to take the blame.
One moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time had ruined his life as well as the lives of his entire family. Even though he and his siblings had been born in the US, his mother had not. His arrest had brought her to the attention of immigration officials, and now she was only days away from being deported. To make matters worse, his younger brothers and sisters were scattered among five different foster homes.
He blinked back tears as a bailiff passed him to a prison guard. The man appeared to be in his early thirties, and he wore an expression of sympathy that Manuel hadn’t witnessed from the other guards who had transported him back and forth to his trial.
Five days of the prosecution presenting evidence. Five days of listening to his sister cry softly in the seat behind him. Five days of his lawyer trying to convince the court that Manuel hadn’t done anything wrong. At least the guard had let his sister give him a hug before carting him out of the courtroom.
Numbly, Manuel walked outside and climbed into the back of the prison van. Another guard sat behind the wheel, waiting to take him to the prison where he would spend the rest of his life. A good part of it anyway. He wouldn’t be up for parole for another twenty years.
As soon as Manuel was secured in the back of the van, the guard who escorted him climbed into the passenger seat. “Let’s get out of here before someone tries to give us another prisoner to transport.”
“You got it.” The driver started the engine and pulled away from the courthouse.
The man in the passenger seat turned and looked through the metal bars that protected the guards from the prisoners. “What happened at the sentencing hearing?”
“They gave me life in prison.” Manuel spoke the words and fought back the fresh wave of tears that threatened. “I’ll be up for parole in twenty years.”
In prison until he was thirty-eight. Or longer.
“You do have another choice,” the driver said.
A sense of familiarity washed over Manuel, and he took his first good look at the dark-haired man behind the wheel. Recognition dawned, and he gasped. “You! You’re the one who shot those men.”
“I know.” The man nodded solemnly.
“Then, why didn’t you come forward and testify?” Manuel demanded. He lifted his handcuffed hands and motioned in the direction of the courthouse. “You can still tell them the truth. It’s not too late.” Desperation and a faint sliver of hope rushed through him. “I already told the police that those guys were trying to shoot you.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t testify.”
“Why not?” Manuel asked incredulously.
“Because I’m dead.”
Manuel tensed, and bitterness filled him. “You don’t look like a ghost to me.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what I am.”
The man in the passenger seat swiveled to face him more fully. “Both of us are in a sort of witness-protection program. People wanted us dead, and we were given the option to fake our deaths and then go to work for a special government organization that helps people.”
“What sort of government organization?” Manuel asked. “Like the CIA or FBI?”
“Before we tell you that, we need to know if you are interested in joining us.”
He had to be dreaming. Maybe this whole day was a nightmare. He must still be sleeping in his cell, waiting to go to trial. Or maybe this episode of getting arrested for something he didn’t do was the nightmare, and any minute his alarm would go off.
