Vengeance

VENGEANCE

Karen S. Woods

SLEEPING BEAGLE BOOKS

Jacksonville, Illinois

Published by Sleeping Beagle Books at Smashwords

ISBN# 978-0-9792832-0-8 (paperback)

ISBN# 978-0-9792832-1-5 (e-book)

LCCN: 2008900920 (paperback)

Copyright 2008 by Karen S. Woods

Cover photo by Dawn M. Turner

VENGEANCE is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is strictly co-incidental.

All Rights Reserved. No portion of this book may be duplicated or reproduced without permission of the publisher, except for small sections which may be quoted in reviews.

For permission, email: publisher@sleepingbeaglebooks.com.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Non quaeres ultionem

nec memor eris iniuriae civium tuorum

diliges amicum tuum sicut temet

ipsum ego Dominus

You shall not seek vengeance,

nor shall you bear a grudge against your people.

You shall love your neighbor as yourself.

I am the Lord.

Leviticus 19:18

TRADEMARK ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

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Groupement Foncier Agricole Du Chateau Grand Puy Lacoste.

PROLOGUE

2150 hours, July 7, Graves’ estate, O’ahu

Her right hand throbbed. Judging by both the swelling and pain, she’d broken it in defending herself. At least the flow of blood from her broken nose had now slowed to a dribble. She’d have to deal with all this, later. For now, she needed to get as far away from here as quickly as possible, before they could regroup.

With her left hand, she reached for the handle of the sliding glass door. With any luck, she could be out the door, across the balcony, down the stairs, to the garage, and off the estate before Nick, or more likely his friends, could stop her.

Yet, the door wouldn’t budge. Looking up, she saw the master lock down bolts had been thrown on these state-of-the-art storm-resistant doors. The release switch was downstairs, in the living room, where she’d left Nick and his friends. She felt unequal to renewing her fight with any of them.

Trapped! Frustration, rage, and fear all exploded within her, along with a fresh surge of adrenaline.

A solid blow rattled the bedroom door, punctuated with the sound of splintering wood.

Rose Jacqueline! Damn you! You’re a dead woman! If you make me break down this fucking door, I’ll make you suffer before I kill you! Nick shouted.

Oh my Jesus, mercy! Saints and angels, pray for me! she prayed on a whisper while looking around the room for something, anything, she could use as a weapon against her husband.

Leave me alone, Nick! Our marriage is over, she shouted at him.

1930 hours, July 12, Connecticut

Mona Graves sat in the funeral home for her son’s vigil service. The words of the prayer service flowed, unheard, over her. The priest invited people to speak about Nicholas. Mona rose and went to the lectern.

My dear Nicholas married Rose Jacqueline Byrnes, just thirty-seven days ago. It had been one of the happiest days of my life. Yet only days ago, my sweet boy died at our estate on O’ahu.

Rose had Nicky’s body burned to ashes before she even considered turning his mortal remains over to his family. The elegant older woman blinked back tears. Was this cremation done to prevent further forensic investigation into the cause of his death? By burning his body to ash, does she think she’s put an end to the suspicions she viciously, premeditatedly, murdered my Nicky?

You can draw your own conclusions why she would have had his body incinerated. But one thing no one can argue is Rose hasn’t shown enough decency to make an appearance here at her own husband’s wake. Nor is she expected to be at the funeral tomorrow. Instead, she’s in seclusion at her Texas ranch, surrounded by her battalion of heavily armed mercenaries, secure in the knowledge she’s literally gotten away with Nicky’s murder.

My son’s innocent blood cries out to heaven for vengeance. I know God’s justice is perfect. However, man’s justice can be easily perverted, as it has been, so far. I swear, today, with all the Saints and Angels, as well as all of you, as my witnesses I will not rest as long as Rose walks free. I’m offering a ten million dollar cash reward to anyone furnishing evidence essential to convict Rose of Nicky’s murder, payable after conviction. I’m utterly serious about seeing her brought to justice for her ruthless slaughter of my son.

I have only these prayers to offer. May God grant rest to my poor Nicky’s immortal soul. May God damn Rose Jacqueline Byrnes to the eternal burning Hell she so richly deserves for murdering my boy. May God give me the strength and courage not to rest until my dear, sweet, Nicky has his due vengeance. Amen.

CHAPTER ONE

1230 hours, June 23rd, the next year, West Texas

Tom hated being in a strange place, unarmed, without his own transportation. As the small jet approached the private landing strip on the Byrnes ranch, he was relieved to see the landmarks matched his expectations.

They’d flown over a nasty storm on the way here. The storm seemed to him an excellent metaphor for his mood on this anniversary of the death of wife and children.

An old pickup truck, driven by Clayton Green, Tom’s old Navy buddy, met him at the landing strip. Tom, after greeting Clay, climbed into the cab. Driving away, Tom was struck by the near silence of the engine and asked, What’s going on with the engine? It’s so quiet.

Doc’s altered most of the vehicles on the ranch to run on alternative fuels. You name it, if it’s possible, she’s made at least one vehicle around here run on it. This one runs on compressed air, Clay said, with a hint of pride in his voice. But, how have you been, Tom? It’s been awhile since we’ve seen one another.

They pulled up to a barn, after a few minutes of catching up with one another. Doc’s in there. You better pull on a pair of hip boots, Clay advised. Come on, I’ll introduce you.

They were inside the barn for several minutes before they found her. Tom felt surprise, even shock, to discover Rose Jacqueline Byrnes Graves with her right arm stuck nearly shoulder deep into a cow’s butt.

Tom noticed a telltale bulge in the middle of her back waistband. She carried a pistol. Her action spoke eloquently about the good doctor’s concern for her own safety, even on her own ranch, when surrounded by armed bodyguards.

Yes, Tom heard her say as she pulled her manure covered arm out of the cow’s anus. Grabbing the top edge, she peeled the arm length, cow dung caked, latex glove off her bare arm, then dropped the inside out glove into a trash bag held by another employee. She told the man beside her, You don’t need me to tell you she’s open, Jim, she said. Time for her to become hamburger and boot leather.

Tom cleared his throat.

She turned around. Considering the woman had given birth about three months before, she appeared to be in fine form. Aside from her breasts, any weight she had put on in the pregnancy was long since gone.

Her mouth was a bit too wide, her nose a bit too crooked, for her to be considered classically beautiful. Her nose surprised him; it had been straight in her wedding pictures, a year ago. In those photos, her long red/gold hair had been braided and wrapped about her head in concentric coils. Now, her hair barely brushed the top of her shoulders in a neat pageboy.

Something indefinable her made Tom immediately feel protective of her. The only other time he’d ever felt this way about a woman upon first meeting was the night he’d been introduced to his late wife, Carolyn, at a dance at the Officer’s Club.

Rose Byrnes stood there in jeans, an oversized long sleeved black t-shirt, and hip high rubber boots. The right sleeve was rolled up to her shoulder.

Just above the elbow on her inner arm was a long, obviously several years old, scar from a knife wound. How in the world did this child of privilege get into a knife fight?

She looked at him, tilting her head slightly in obvious curiosity while she rolled down her sleeve. So, you’re Tom Hamilton. You look so very much like your grandfather, it’s astonishing.

Well, isn’t this interesting? What does my grandfather have to do with this invitation?

Nothing, really. Matthew and my godfather are poker buddies. Matthew’s always been a good friend to me.

He shrugged, not knowing what to say to this quite unexpected turn. It was never any secret Matthew Thomas Sabin, Junior, was his grandfather. But he’d never even met his extremely wealthy and powerful grandfather.

She continued, Matthew was here a couple of months ago for Teri’s baptism. Laura, my sister, is a law student the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. He’s been kind enough to keep a regular eye on her as a favor to me.

I see. Connections come with money, I guess. I didn’t know you had a sister.

Laura’s my father’s daughter.

Her father’s daughter. Precise phrasing. Acceptance, in her tone of voice, but not complete approval of her old man’s lifestyle. More than slight embarrassment, but at the same time real affection for this half-sister of hers. Amazing how she packs so much into so little. Hmmm.

I’d imagine you’re curious about why I invited you for this discussion, she offered.

It was more of a royal summons than an invitation, really. Still, not many people would have turned down an invitation from a wealthy reclusive genius like Rose Jacqueline Byrnes Graves. And frankly, I suspect she relies on getting precisely this reaction from people.

The question had crossed my mind, he said.

She nodded. I’ll just bet it had. Go with Clayton to my workshop. Settle into my office. There’s a portfolio on the coffee table containing your initial briefing, a place for this discussion to begin. Phil will get you coffee, if you want it, to go with the cookies.

A few minutes into the drive from the barn, they rolled past a complex of several stone buildings, one of which was clearly a church. Children romped happily, noisily, on the playground in front of a more modern single story stone building.

This surprised him, although he didn’t know why it should. The ranch has both its own chapel and school?

Sure, Clay said. There’s always been a school and a chapel on the ranch. Don Diego built the first chapel here before he even built his own house. The school was initially taught in the chapel.

Tom nodded. How many students are at the school?

In the fall, one hundred and two. Paula teaches K-12 music and is the organist/choir director at the chapel. Listen, there’s going to be a jazz band tonight in the homestead’s ballroom. You might want to come and spend some time. Paula and I will be there for dinner and for the music.

Is this unusual?

No. There’s usually some kind of entertainment going on around the ranch. Doc expects us all to work hard. But, she makes sure there’s plenty of opportunity for relaxation, too.

Clay stopped the truck a few minutes later in front of a large, windowless, building. This is her workshop.

Thanks, Clay.

I’ll deliver your bag to the homestead and make your keycard for the guest wing. It will be waiting for you.

Thanks. I appreciate everything.

Not a problem. Paula’s really looking forward to seeing you.

Standing there, after Clay drove off, Tom assessed the building, this workshop. The structure looked simple and unguarded to the untrained eye. But to the trained eye, the security features of the structure were numerous and quite elegant. The building, like the owner, was very well protected, indeed. His presence had, without a doubt, been announced and he was being observed through several of the video surveillance cameras.

A few feet from where he stood, the door opened.

Tom immediately categorized the man in the doorway. This man was clearly a bodyguard. About his own age, early forties, six foot two, one hundred and eighty-five pounds of lean muscle, the man’s bearing said he was ex-military, likely Marine. The man wore a .45 caliber Colt revolver at his hip.

The man said, I’m Phil Rogers. I’m Doc’s executive assistant. She’ll be here in a few minutes. Won’t you step inside, Mr. Hamilton?

Entering the building was like stepping into another world. Tom’s eyes swept around the large open spaces of the structure. Several projects were in process in different areas of the building. It looked like she went from project to project as the mood took her. About fifty feet ahead of him, the pilot’s door of a small, obviously experimental, two seat aircraft sat open. His eyes went to the airplane. The aircraft design was unusual. Then he realized why. The plane was a vertical take-off and landing craft.

She was her father’s daughter. Jack Byrnes had spent most of his adult life building up Byrnes Aviation into a force to be reckoned with.

Phil spoke in a voice not meant to go beyond the two of them, Let me show you to her office. Doc never sees anyone at her workshop. But, for some odd reason, she trusts you. Don’t betray her trust.

The or you’ll answer to me was left unsaid, but not misunderstood.

I wouldn’t, Tom replied.

So the Senator said, Phil stated with clear approval in his voice as he showed Tom into her office. Make yourself comfortable, Tom. You want some coffee?

Senator? Which Senator? Is this discussion related to her defense work?

Not right now, thanks, Tom said.

Okay. She said you were to read through the folder she left for you. I’ll let you get to your briefing in peace. Then Phil turned on his heels and was gone.

The office could have been the office of the head of any major corporation around the world, except the furnishings were softer than in most corporate offices, much more feminine. This was a world he’d come to understand, but not to be completely comfortable in.

He looked around the office. Except for the antique oak rocking chair, all of the furnishings were in Queen Anne style. Carolyn would have loved this room. The rocker sat at a right angle to the end of the sofa, and was draped with a cream and gold colored, apparently hand knit, afghan.

Except for the oil portrait of her parents hanging on a partition wall behind her desk, all the paintings on the walls were original oil landscapes, capturing the beauty of the local area. The signature on every piece, including the portrait, was RJB.

The art was another piece to the puzzle of the woman.

Tom wondered what was behind the connecting door at the west side of her office.

For a woman who was intensely conscious about her personal security, inside the building, her security measures were practically nonexistent. The single armed guard, especially one who would leave a stranger in an office alone, even though the office had several security cameras, was hardly adequate security.

Now, he understood why her people had insisted on having him sign a nondisclosure agreement. The loss of any of the ideas in this workshop could translate into the loss of millions, maybe billions, of dollars. Why she had insisted on meeting here, instead of in some neutral spot was beyond him. Unless this was a test of loyalty, or she was frightened of leaving the security of her ranch, it didn’t make much sense. Being brutally honest with himself, he didn’t like the strange twist forming in his gut at the thought of either of those motives being behind this invitation.

He looked over to the door as she walked in. Interesting workshop you have here, Doctor, he said.

She rubbed her neck. It’s my home away from home. I’m sorry you had to find me in the barn. I meant to be done with the dairy concerns before you arrived.

No problem, Doctor Graves.

It’s Byrnes, she corrected sharply. With a clearly forced smile, she said in a businesslike tone, I don’t use my late husband’s name, at all. Neither do I stand on formalities with people, Tom.

Keeping things informal suits me, Jackie. Now where did the name ‘Jackie’ come from? Looking at her, he decided the name fit her.

She smiled at him, speaking in a tone as wistful as the expression in her eyes, No one’s called me ‘Jackie’ since my mother, rest her soul, passed away.

Should I call you something else?

No, ‘Jackie’ is fine. Truthfully, I’ve always preferred ‘Jackie’ to Rose. Heavens, I’m not a Rose! Not even a ‘Yellow Rose of Texas’. The only name less appropriate would have been ‘Violet’.

No, I can’t see you as a shrinking violet. Then again, a rose by any other name… he offered.

Don’t expect me to smell sweet after a day of hard work, particularly if I’ve been working with animals.

He chuckled. None of us smell sweet after a hard day’s work, Jackie. It’s some aircraft design you have setting out there.

I’ll take it up for an initial flight, later today, provided the storm holds off long enough to let me test it. Would you like to go up with me?

Then she smiled at him. Her smiles wrecked havoc on his ability to keep a clear head. Her smile should be categorized as a dangerous weapon.

I’d be honored, he told her.

Then you’d be easily honored. We might fall right out of the sky, she said, punctuating her words with a chuckle.

Her laughter sounded unpracticed to him, as if she hadn’t laughed in a very long time. Given the happenings of the last year, he didn’t doubt laughter had been rare for her.

I doubt it. You wouldn’t go up in the plane yourself if you believed there was any real risk, he said.

You don’t know me well enough to say that.

I know you didn’t earn your doctorates by being stupid.

Thank you, I think, she replied with a small smile.

In addition, you have your daughter to think about. No mother worth the name would purposefully endanger herself. You’re a good mother.

She nodded. I try to be. Teri is the most important person in my life. I want to do right by her.

Could we get down to business anytime soon?

Her answering laugh tingled along his spine.

Of course. Sam Morrison said you might be the man to solve this problem for me, she said.

I see. But, he didn’t. What sort of problem would she have her own people couldn’t solve? And why was Samuel Morrison involved? If the Admiral, now Senator, was involved this was bound to be interesting. And just what is the problem?

Care for some coffee while we talk? It’s been a long day already. If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to pass out.

The slow tremors in her hands said she wasn’t joking.

Thank you. Food would be nice. Let me help you?