Heather’s Truth, a Cypress Security romantic suspense novel, is a thrilling reading escape loaded with intrigue, white lies, and an unlikely partnership with happily ever after potential!
About the book:
If still waters run deep, her cheerful smile hides an ocean of secrets…
Growing up in small-town South Carolina, Heather Morris knows a bright smile can be an effective shield, especially during her shifts at the local coffee shop. And hiding her true suspicions is essential when she stumbles across an ugly criminal enterprise.
But she can’t exact justice alone. Fortunately, she knows an FBI agent who just might help.
Special Agent Dale Nichols is ruthless about closing cases. And when Heather–of all people–drops a corruption case on his desk, he’s sure she’s misinterpreted something. Digging in, he soon learns she’s right. What’s worse? The criminals have learned she’s the whistleblower.
To protect her, and hide the real reason he’s suddenly hanging around, he proposes, wedging himself between her and the operation that wants her dead.
As Dale and Heather scramble to find justice, will it be the killers hunting them or the fake engagement that destroys their chance for a future?
Sneak Peek!
Prologue
Columbia, South Carolina
Special Agent Dale Nichols’s hands hovered over the keyboard as the ramifications of his mistake came together.
He’d rushed it. No, that wasn’t true. He’d blown it off, underestimating the source of the intel. He still didn’t understand why she’d brought it straight to him. She had closer friends who could have helped her.
Friends he would have taken more seriously had they delivered the same information.
The hotel desk chair squeaked in protest as Dale leaned back. His eyes on his computer monitor and his palms drumming against the hard plastic armrests, he considered his options.
She’d handed over compelling evidence. He wanted to get into the field and see for himself, but the data was damaging.
Dates and times. Cause and effect. He had to agree that someone in the Department of Natural Resources was abusing their authority and using remote state parks for personal gain.
From dogfighting.
Young and idealistic, Heather Morris of Haleswood, South Carolina had discovered the situation and wanted him to stop it.
Contrary to popular opinion, the FBI didn’t just storm in and rip away cases from local law enforcement agencies on a whim.
But now he had to intervene. In his haste to sort out everything she’d dumped in his hands, he’d managed to expose her as the whistleblower.
Maybe.
Probably.
Like so many things in South Carolina, the DNR was a small, close community. Heather wasn’t the only employee who processed data via telecommuting, but the inquiries he’d been making would lead directly back to her.
Maybe.
He shook his head and leaned forward once more, reviewing the words on the screen. Not maybe. Not even probably. He’d screwed this up.
The name at the head of the list mocked him. Anthony Lester.
If she was right and Lester was involved, then this wasn’t a small group of friends who enjoyed a sickening sort of illegal diversion. Whether Heather realized it or not, she’d stumbled onto a sophisticated, well-financed criminal system. The probable corruption of state officials that would best facilitate the fights gave Dale and the FBI clear jurisdiction.
Just as she’d said when she handed him the jump drive months ago.
He’d planned to call her and say he’d handle it, certain she didn’t realize what she’d uncovered. At first glance, he thought a few calls would do it. Tech support would unravel the money trail and electronic communications. Her brother, a deputy with the Haleswood Sheriff’s Department, could keep an eye on her and keep her out of Lester’s grasp.
Then he’d opened the final document. Read the names she’d decoded. Connected the dots.
He’d screwed up and made her a target.
In the time since Dale joined the South Carolina office, Lester had frequently been an investigation target. But the man remained free thanks to expensive lawyers who twisted facts and intimidated witnesses. This would likely be another crime on the long list they’d never managed to stick to Lester.
Looking at the list of names, Dale felt the tic start in his jaw. He’d had his own suspicions about Lester and the man’s inexhaustible connections. Heather, the most unlikely of sources, had provided potential proof.
Infiltrating the “fight club” would take months. Heather wouldn’t wait much longer. Thanks to his sterling reputation, no one would trust Dale’s sudden interest in illegal entertainments.
As another idea took shape, he weighed the risks against the rewards. The first challenge would be convincing Heather to cooperate. There were a couple ways to play this.
What he was about to propose wouldn’t be easy. Working with civilians never was. And it wouldn’t be safe. But among the limited bad options, it was the best choice available.
For both of them.
Chapter 1
Midnight Rooster Diner, Haleswood
Heather Morris refilled coffee cups along the front counter of the Midnight Rooster with a smile on her face. She served the same food, made the same small talk with the regulars, people she’d known her entire life, and let the routine hide her secret reality.
Let the smile the whole town expected to see on her face every day hide the terror coursing through her with every beat of her heart.
The door opened on a wash of cool air that defied the sunshine.
“Good morning, Sheriff Cochran.”
“Mornin’ Heather. I need mine to-go today, plus one more.”
She poured him a cup of coffee to tide him over and headed for the kitchen to give the orders. That Brian Cochran needed a second breakfast order told her he had someone sitting in the jail cell. She puttered in the kitchen as long as she could without raising eyebrows. The sheriff couldn’t be dealing with anything related to her situation or he would have mentioned it.
If he knew.
She hated the little “if” voice that had been her annoying, constant companion since she’d handed over the file outlining her concerns to FBI Special Agent Dale Nichols.
He probably thought she was in on it.
“Hey, Heather, I need my to-go cup.”
She turned, her ever-happy smile in place for Bobby Ray Wilson. “Sure thing.” He’d asked her to the homecoming dance sophomore year to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. Must have worked. Right after that homecoming dance he’d reunited with the ex-girlfriend. They’d married almost as soon as they’d graduated and now she was pregnant with their third child.
Now who was jealous?
Heather ignored the “if only” voice and placed the cup in front of him, knowing to leave room for him to add cream and sugar. “How’s Annie feeling?”
“Fantastic. Second trimester is a breeze for her.”
“Give her my best,” Heather said, aiming for the kitchen to pick up ready orders. She wasn’t jealous. Not over Bobby. No, she was jealous of the relationship in general. Bobby and Annie had each other to lean on when life got tough.
She delivered food, knowing who preferred which condiments, and returned to the counter for her usual morning chat with Sheriff Cochran.
“Just a few more minutes.” She said it the same way she said it every other time he had a to-go order. “Should I put in a lunch order for later?”
“No, thanks.” His eyes locked with hers. “I’ll have someone call it in when we know who will be where.”
She nodded. Smiled. Walked down the counter topping off coffee and clearing dishes. “Who’s in the tank today?” she asked as she returned to the sheriff’s end of the counter.
“A drunk and disorderly from the Darling Club. You know how it is.”
She did know because she listened to her older brother, J.C. Morris, talk about his work as a deputy. She braced for the next question.
“When are you going to settle down and put in your application?”
Her routine reply was more of a struggle than it should have been. If he knew… damn “if” voice. She cleared her throat. “I have a job.”
“Two at last count,” he said raising his cup to his mouth.
She enjoyed the vast differences between the two. Mornings here at the Rooster kept her in touch with her entire town—even when they annoyed her. Her afternoons and a few evenings were spent working on the databases for the Department of Natural Resources. It wasn’t a high-powered career, but she loved it. She especially appreciated the flexibility of her telecommuting schedule. Why did everyone think she needed to do something more structured?
“Which is just how I like it,” she replied with the standard answer before doing another walk down the counter collecting on tabs and clearing more dishes.
The cook called out and Heather ducked into the kitchen to pick up the sheriff’s order. She didn’t want to join the sheriff’s department. Not as a deputy anyway. Seeing what her brother had gone through, she knew she didn’t have the patience for that kind of career.
And if the sheriff knew what she’d been doing…
She barely had the patience to wait one more day before tracking down Special Agent Nichols. His silence was driving her nuts. Maybe he didn’t get it. Maybe he’d been too busy on something else.
Like running on the beach. In December. At sunrise. The man had been her every temptation come to life in those moments almost a week ago. Lean and strong, sweat dampening his shirt in a “V” between his shoulder blades and across his chest. He’d worn long sleeves and running pants, but she knew he was cut.
Beyond the physical, he tempted her on another level. Sexy as hell, but older too. Life experience rolled off of him and inexplicably, she found herself wanting to learn all about it. All about him.
“Plan on delivering that order today?”
“What?” Heather jerked herself away from that lovely memory, the only one she had lately. “Sorry,” she said to Janene as she worked the grill. “Another late one last night.”
“Uh-huh. Pour yourself an espresso and tell me about it when the rush is over.”
With a laugh, her hands full of the sheriff’s to-go bag in one hand and a full pot of fresh coffee in the other, Heather backed through the door and into the diner.
And there he stood, Special Agent Dale Nichols, sunglasses hooked neatly in the pocket of his suit, chatting with the sheriff.
A jolt of fear skittered through her system. No need for espresso now. They could be talking about anything, she told herself. It was the definition of narcissism to speculate he’d come here for her.
If he’d reviewed the information she’d dumped on him nearly a week ago, he would know better than to be seen anywhere near Haleswood. She leaped to the obvious conclusion that he hadn’t even looked at it. Disappointment swamped her. It seemed she wouldn’t get any relief from the ever-present terror unless she handled it herself.
She looked at him, taking in his grim expression. Maybe he wanted to discuss it further. More likely he disagreed with her assessment of the situation. And why wouldn’t he? He was a fully trained and experienced FBI agent. A professional. She was just the small town, homegrown girl with no career, no boyfriend, and no real ambition.
If they only knew.
She had drive and passion, she just didn’t advertise it. Around here, she was Heather: the Morris girl who’d dropped out of college, the one who—along with the Rooster coffee—made mornings more bearable. If they thought that added up to aimless, they were sadly mistaken, but she’d stopped trying to explain it long ago.
But she knew there was good cause for her suspicions. Regardless of Mr. FBI’s confidence in the information, she intended to take decisive action. There was risk in that approach, but living in fear wasn’t her idea of a long-term plan.
Neither was allowing suffering—animal or human—when she could prevent it.
Whatever brought Mr. FBI in this morning, Ruth Williams, owner of the Midnight Rooster, wouldn’t tolerate rude behavior.
She turned up the wattage on her smile, pleased when he leaned back just a little. “Good morning, Special Agent Nichols, what can I get for you?”
“Just coffee. Please.”
“Cream, sugar, extra shot?”
“Black.”
“Coming right up.” She had all kinds of practice hiding her distaste for the purists. The Rooster had the best coffee in three counties, but she still preferred her caffeine cut with a little cream. And chocolate whenever possible.
She thought of hunting mornings with her dad, when she’d had her own thermos with a half and half blend of coffee and hot chocolate.
Filling one of the eclectic Midnight Rooster mugs for Mr. FBI, she carefully set the steaming coffee on the counter for him.
“Tell Ruth to add that to my tab,” Sheriff Cochran said, dipping his chin at the cup of coffee in front of Mr. FBI. With a farewell to the diner in general, the sheriff headed out to his car.
Uncertain of the next step, Heather resumed her duties behind the counter. Her gaze kept sliding his way, but he didn’t express any interest in her or the possibility of Ruth’s typical breakfast. He must have left Columbia extremely early to get here before the breakfast rush finished.
She tried not to admire how he’d arrived perfectly pressed despite the drive. Every time she’d seen him, even running on the beach, it was obvious he appreciated order.
To a compulsive degree, she thought, sliding another glance his way. She imagined his desk, his home, even his car, never had an item out of place. It gave her chills.
“Miss Morris?”
His low voice made the hair on her neck stand at attention. The stupid reaction made her lose count of the money she was sorting in her apron.
“We had Christmas Eve dinner together,” she said for the benefit of the lingering customers. “Call me Heather.” She reached for the coffee pot. “Do you need a refill?”
He covered his mug with his hand. “No. Thank you.”
Did Mr. FBI ever relax? They were in a small town diner, formalities weren’t necessary.
“Breakfast?”
He shook his head.
She didn’t like the look he was giving her. There was something proprietary in his hazel eyes. As if he was the lion and she was the dumb gazelle who’d wandered away from the herd.
She might be small town, but she wasn’t naïve. He gave off the vibe that he was attracted to her, which put her on high alert. Her attraction to him notwithstanding, men like him didn’t spare more than a glance and a tip for girls like her.
Mr. FBI was up to something. They’d met all of three times and the first one didn’t count. He’d come to Haleswood to apprehend a criminal and Heather had been part of the crowd watching the whole thing from across the street.
Of course, the whole town knew he’d dropped in on the Morris family Christmas Eve dinner. Playing along, she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the counter. “Then what is it I can do for you, Special Agent?” She put extra emphasis on the “special.” Being so close, she noticed the gold flecks in his unique hazel eyes.
“Dale,” he corrected. “I came to ask you to dinner.”
Was this a joke? She struggled not to jerk back from him, to keep her voice light and flirty. “Tonight?”
“I realize it’s short notice.”
“Maybe I have plans.”
His eyebrows knit together as if he hadn’t considered the possibility of her social calendar. It pissed her off. Immensely. But she kept that smile in place. The unflappable, sturdy curve of her lips had seen her through rough moments as a waitress and as a volunteer at the county animal shelter.
“If you do, I’m hoping you’ll change them for me.”
“Huh.” She pushed back from the counter, pretending to think it over. His body language said date, but his voice remained serious. Did he ever let his guard down? “Where do you want to take me?” She rubbed the edge of her apron across a clean spot on her side of the counter.
“There’s a new sushi bar in Columbia. I made reservations.”
“Sushi?” She could get her fill of excellent sushi without a reservation at the place just around the corner. Of course, the serious, handsome companion would be missing from that scenario.
She was tempted to string him along for another minute or two, for the benefit of their rapt audience, when her brother walked in, glaring at Mr. FBI’s back. Sheriff Cochran must have told him she had a visitor. As if she couldn’t take care of herself with a man. In a public venue.
The irritation only proved she’d never get any respect for her independence if she stuck it out in Haleswood. She leaned across the counter and ran a finger down the perfect, full Windsor knot of Mr. FBI’s tie. “I had plans.” To volunteer at the shelter, but she could rearrange that. “But I’ll change them. For you. I accept.”
His eyes flashed and she got the impression she’d just accepted far more than a dinner date. Good. She was tired of watching a small group of people get away with illegal activity. By her calculations there would be another fight in the next day or two. Granted, patience wasn’t something she considered part of her skill set, but it was way past time Mr. FBI took her concerns seriously. Serious was his M.O. after all.
Heather’s brother scowled at her. “Hey,” she said, without moving away from Mr. FBI. “Do you need another coffee or are you hungry again?”
“Coffee,” he said.
She saw the tic in his jaw and would’ve knocked it off his face under normal circumstances. As she poured coffee everyone knew her brother didn’t need, she sent a sly glance to Mr. FBI. “What time should I be ready?”
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