Page 1 of Vision of Truth

Prologue

14 years ago…

Isaac drew back his arm, preparing to snap the football across the lawn to his brother Easton when the car paused in front of their house. Their foster house. It was a far cry from a loving home, but here there was no waking up in a cold sweat. No surprise visitors hovering at the edge of his bed. No leering eyes or unwanted touches. None of the helpless bile that burned in his gut when Easton whimpered across the room. His jaw hardened and he drew in a quick breath through his nose, waiting for the rage to dissipate. The agonizing memories were just that—memories.

The dark green sedan took a left into the driveway and Isaac lowered his arm to his side, the leather ball still cradled in his grip. A woman with stringy white hair and an ill-fitting suit exited the vehicle and opened the door to the backseat. Social worker. He’d been in the system long enough to know the type. A boy about his age with a hardened expression and a grisly scar on his neck got out first and took stock of his surroundings. His body was rigid, like he’d crack if anyone gave him a side eye. Then the next passenger got out, and the boy put one protective arm around the girl’s shoulders. She glanced across the lawn, eyes stopping on him, pinning him in place. His breath hitched. The football slipped from his grip and tumbled to the yellow, dried out grass. He was locked in place, as a surge of … something, welled in his chest. He couldn’t place the emotion, but it was big and frightening and overwhelming. She held his gaze as the trio walked to the front door, large expressive eyes swimming with uncertainty. He looked over at his brother, who was staring at him. Years of hiding in the shadows had honed their silent communication. Easton gave him a slight nod and they started toward the house. The screen door opened with a creak and slapped shut behind them. The social worker was talking to Lorraine and Bruce, their foster parents. They were stern and strict. Deeply invested in their church. Isaac walked past the morose biblical paintings hung with reverence on the plain wooden walls, directly to the two kids who had shrunk into the corner. The boy immediately stepped in front of his sister, the resemblance between them obvious.

He stopped short, respecting the other kid’s need for distance, and kept his hands loose at his sides. “I’m Isaac. This is my brother Easton. We’re fosters too.” Silence hung in the space between them. “This place is okay,” he tried again. “They don’t hurt us. Feed us all right.” Relief was palpable on their faces.

The girl pushed past her brother. “I’m Julie.” She gave them each a quick hug. Her long, light brown hair smelled like strawberries. The physical contact came as a shock. It had been a long time since someone offered a warm embrace. Whatever Julie had been through hadn’t broken her. She shined bright. He understood why the brother was so protective. There was an innocence about her. Something precious.

“I’m Gus.” The boy shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You have nothing to worry about from us. We stick together,” Easton absently straightened his glasses. As a gangly teen, with his dark hair growing a bit too long, he was starting to look like one of the characters from the books he always had his nose stuck in. Minus the jagged forehead scar. A lump formed in his throat, pride welling in his chest. His brother was damn smart. He was going to be someone.

Gus gave them both another once over. His eyes were far too old and wary. He must’ve found what he was searching for, because he nodded and took a step forward.

“Together,” Gus repeated to himself.

Present Day

Isaac jerked awake, chest heaving. Debris from the shelled out Syrian building shifted and clinked down by the bottom of his combat boots. Rats. Just rats scurrying in the dark. He rested his head back down on his pack and some of the tightness in his chest ebbed. For a second, he’d been lost in the dream. Sweet, disgraceful torture that had woken him with a searing ache at the junction of his hips and sickness in his gut. His teeth ground together as he tried to purge the fantasies from his depraved mind. Running his fingers through endless lengths of caramel hair, like water gliding over his rough, cracked palms. Huge hazel eyes half closed in pleasure. Soft legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Every night he dreamed of her, and every night he clawed and fought his way out of his immoral subconscious. His tainted, bloodstained hands would never, should never, be anywhere near all the sweetness and beauty that was Julie.

His sister.

Not by blood, but in every other way that mattered. Life had dealt him and his biological brother Easton a blow the day they were spawned. The vile creature that birthed them was no mother. She was a monster. The best day of their young lives had been when they’d been put into foster care—not because the couple that took them provided any type of nurturing or kindness, but because of the absence of the abuse they’d endured. The second best day was when Julie and her older brother Gus were placed in the same house. Shared trauma forged an instant bond between them, and they vowed to have each other’s backs. Always. They’d stuck together ever since. Until he realized the depth of his love for Julie went far beyond that of honorary siblings. He’d enlisted the day he turned eighteen and fled before he could do something unforgivable.

“Nightmares again.” Rowan muttered. His sole teammate left his watch post near the rudimentary door frame and silently approached. Their two-man sniper team eliminated targets and operated reconnaissance missions. “You good? Extraction will be here within the hour.”

Isaac scrubbed his hands down his face and exhaled sharply. “Yeah.” He was far from okay, though. Another mission was complete, and that meant he’d return home to see his family for a brief visit. No amount of time was long enough, but he couldn’t stay. Not when he longed to wrap Julie up tight and never walk away. Each visit was more painful than the last, and each time he walked away it tore at his heart. He missed them. All of them. How long could he endure hiding out on missions, only seeing the people he loved most in sporadic doses?

The whir of the helo brought him to his feet and he exchanged a glance with Rowan. They slung on their packs and moved out. The extraction was quick and uneventful. Their mark had been easy to locate and eliminate, removing an active terrorist leader before any trouble landed on United States soil. When they got back to base, he powered on his cellphone and stripped out of his gear as ping after ping sounded from the device. He grinned. His siblings never failed to keep in touch. He picked up the phone, smile dissolving, blood running cold.

Julie :25 Lavender Grove, Newton. SOS.

Chapter One

Something was very wrong. Julie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and wrapped her arms securely around the six-year-old who was perched in her lap. The little girl’s father had told her to conduct Sabrina’s therapy session on the second floor of the family’s sprawling estate, as he had business to see to on the main floor. The wordsimportant colleaguesandhigh stakesreverberated in her ear, even as she strained to listen to the explosive shouts that traveled up from the first floor. Prickles of anxiety swarmed her chest. Her heart thumped wildly, keeping the pace with Sabrina’s soft auditory stim,ninn, ninn, ninn.Her little friend was picking up on tension ballooning through the house. Had stopped playing with her favorite toy—a ring of keys that opened a series of plastic doors. A rapid succession of pops made her chest hitch.

“Sabrina, let’s play a matching game.” With quick, gentle hands she helped Sabrina stand and led her into the adjoining bathroom, sitting her in the empty porcelain bath. She ripped the Velcro puppies off of the laminated page and handed both to the girl. “Sabrina, match.” Her straight blonde hair swayed as she rocked, clutching the page with both hands. When Sabrina began to stick each puppy with its counterpart on the page, she released a quick breath and retreated from the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Her fingers trembled as she stuffed them into the pocket of her jeans for her cellphone. Sabrina would be safe while she determined the level of danger. Had shots really been fired? And who was the intended recipient—Sabrina’s father or his business associates? She paused in the hallway, just outside of the girl’s bedroom.

“We’re in deep fucking shit.” One voice boomed. “The Director said to turn up the heat on Vesey, not put a bullet in him.”

There was a sharp hiss. “He was reaching into his desk—I-I didn’t mean—”

The familiar sound of flesh slapping against flesh made her take a step back. One of the men let out a pained cry.

“Enough. Take the body. Put it in the trunk.” The man’s voice had dropped an octave. “That kid is somewhere here.”

“Kid doesn’t talk.”

She was beginning to separate the two men downstairs by their voices. This one had a distinctive breathy whistle, as though he couldn’t get enough air through his nose. The one who seemed to be in charge had a thick Boston accent.

“You fucking idiot. Didn’t you see the teacher’s car outside when we pulled in?” Julie lifted her phone and pulled up her brother’s group text. She forced herself to punch in the message, even as voices continued to carry downstairs.

25 Lavender Grove, Newton. SOS.

She’d just hit SEND when footsteps began pounding up the grand staircase. She spun and darted into Sabrina’s room. Once inside she pushed one of the pink and white dressers in front of the door, grabbed the noise cancelling headphones from the top drawer, and slid into the bathroom. Sabrina glanced at her with clear green eyes, then reverted her gaze back to her matching page. She did her best to project calm even as her insides were churning. Living with three brothers involved in some aspect of military and law enforcement had trained her to think on her feet. She’d noticed the gentle slope of the roof from the bathroom window before, and how the big oak beside it needed a trim so badly, its branches reached out and brushed the shingles. “Sabrina,” she knelt beside the bathtub, and drew in a breath. There was violent pounding on the bedroom door as someone fought to push the dresser. “Remember the monkeys we watched on your tablet? I’m going to give you a monkey ride. You have to hold on really tight and have a safe body while I carry you. Okay?”

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