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  There’s no going back for a little boy denied love.

  Martin Nash was once seven years old and longed for words of love from his mother. At thirty-five, he knows he’s never going to hear them from her. But he’s willing to kill for as long as it takes … until someone tells him the words.

  Nobility transformed them and their lives.

  Nobility, a genetic modification created by Dr. Anthony Lazar, uses latent animal DNA to cage the human ego and bring mankind to a higher moral code free of envy, greed, and jealousy. Noble means possessing an exceptional character in the face of adversity.

  As Dreya, Rhys, Quinn, and Simon discover the dangerous position they’re in by being Noble, they search for a way to fit exceptional into their everyday life. While old habits provide a never-ending challenge going forward, there’s no going back.

  In the midst of this uncertainty, Dreya puts herself in the line of fire with a serial killer who has a fetish for eyeballs. What she doesn’t know is …

  Nothing is safe and nowhere is private.

  It’s not a good time to have secrets.

  Secrets

  Dreya Love Book 3

  Dana Lyons

  Copyright © 2018 by Dana Lyons

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, events, organizations and conversation in this novel are either the products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used in a fictitious way for the purposes of the story.

  Cover Design by Tara at Fantasia Frog Designs

  Created with Vellum

  For Ricky and his infinite patience.

  A special mention to the CSI Academy of Florida;

  thank you, Kim and Deb.

  Contents

  SECRETS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  SECRETS

  Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for,

  the conviction of things not seen.

  1

  Martin Nash gazed at the tree branches reaching far over his head, certain that if he climbed to the top, his mom would see him, and then love him. He understood this because he learned it in school. Bobby Joe told him so, and he was in the second grade, so he would know.

  “Boys climb trees and their mommies love them,” he reminded himself. But getting to the top would be tough, for he was only seven, with short legs and little arms. “I can do it!” he declared.

  He jumped for the first branch and held on, gripping the tree trunk with his legs. The next branch came into reach and he shinnied up higher, not daring to look down. Another branch, and another, until he climbed onto a sturdy limb near the top. He sat cautiously, hanging on with his hands, his legs straddling the limb.

  It was early spring and the leaves hadn’t filled in the tree. With his bright red shirt on, she couldn’t miss him. “Mommy. Mommy. Come see, Mommy. Come out and see me!” he shouted.

  The back door remained closed, but he refused to give up. He had worked too hard to climb up here; he couldn’t give up. Besides, Bobby Joe said this would work. He shouted again, “Mommy!” and waited for the back door to open.

  She’s not coming.

  His fingers hurt where the bark of the branch dug into his skin. Glancing down, he saw how far he was from the ground and his legs began to tremble.

  The door slammed open, banging off the back of the house, sending chips of cracked and faded paint fluttering to the porch. He swallowed hard, sensing her anger, but excitement raced through him. He called out. “Mommy, here. Up here!”

  At his voice, she turned her gaze up.

  For the barest moment he saw her smile, like in his dreams. This imaginary mother in his dreams reached her arms out to him with words of love on her lips.

  “I love you, Martin. Come down now before you hurt yourself.”

  He held his breath, needing the words more than air.

  But unlike the woman in his dreams, his mother’s lip curled in disapproval. His dream evaporated, his excitement fizzled, and fear moved in, for he was so very far from the ground. Even his tummy felt bad and he thought he might throw up. He started shaking. “Mommy, help. Help me get down, please Mommy.”

  She said nothing, watching him with her hand shading her eyes. He struggled to stand. From here he could clearly see her eyes on him, but he knew she never really saw him—ever.

  I might as well be invisible.

  He wavered, his foot slipped, he pitched backward and plunged through the branches. In that bare moment of free fall, he saw her toss her blond hair over her shoulder. Yet when he crashed to the ground and cried out, she turned and went back inside the house.

  Pain filled his body. Darkness came, removing the vision of his mother turning her back on him. In that instant, she sucked her teeth like she did when she stepped in doggie poo once. With a certainty as strong as his seven-year old mind could muster, he knew.

  Mommy doesn’t see me. She doesn’t love me.

  * * *

  Present Day, Washington, DC

  On their first day at work after returning from Draco Station, Rhys exited Assistant Director Jarvis’ office in a rush, eager to escape that man’s dissecting gaze, even though Dreya remained behind.

  Simon and Quinn were already in her office, preparing for their next case, but he lingered near Jarvis’ door. His instinct was to stay and defend Dreya—if she needed it. But that was Nobility, not reality. He ground his jaws together and brought his focus to Quinn and Simon.

  Simon’s face was cold and hard, while hot anger poured from Quinn. Rhys shook his shoulders with bird desire, wanting to shift and fly free of this human chaos.

  Dreya first, pack second, me third, job fourth.

  Their morphing genetics brought constant renovations to priorities and motivations. Every day was like trying on the skin of a new person. Escaping this turbulence by assuming his bird form provided a relief he couldn’t express.

  Lazar was brilliant to design us this way.

  The interplay between his human and animal counterparts was symbiotic; he couldn’t do one without the other. The animal definitely made him a better human. He shook his shoulders again, wanting to fly. But Nobility demanded he first tend to his priorities. He glanced through the glass into Jarvis’ office. Dreya held her own, standing at attention.

  In her office, Quinn and Simon had evidence boxes for the new case stacked on her desk; Simon rolled in the murder board. Rhys joined them. A quick glance showed photos of five victims. Evaluating the scant two boxes of evidence, his eyebrows shot up. “Where’s the rest?”

  Simon sat on the corner of the desk, a dark look spreading on his face as he, too, counted the victims. “That’s all our evidence?”

  Rhys stepped up to the board and Simon and Quinn moved in, flanking him. The images were disturbing on several levels. The crime scene photos displayed similar bodies strangled to death, but the similarities in driver ID photos snatched his breath.

  Early thirties, long blonde hair, attractive.

  With different hair and make-up, they were all Dreya.

  “How long have these murders been going on?” he asked.

  Simon pointed. “Jenny Prentice was killed mid-March this year, and Tanya Stapleton on April 27. But t
hese others are from 2012, ‘16, and last year.”

  Rhys exhaled heavily. The progression and intensity of violence clearly escalated; this killer was deeply driven. And from the brief collection of evidence in the boxes, he was also very organized.

  Behind them, the door opened and Dreya stepped in. Her eyes were huge, making Rhys wonder what Jarvis said to her. He asked, “Are you all right?” and started to place his arm around her shoulders for a hug, but briskly reminded himself where they were.

  “It’s Jarvis, we’ll have to talk later.” She pointed at the board. “What do we have here?”

  Rhys heard Simon and Quinn moving behind him; he knew they blocked her view of the board. The pack’s ever present expression of DNA needed to guard her.

  Nobility getting in the way.

  He cleared his throat, but no words would move past his protective urges.

  “What?” she demanded with a half shrug. “Can’t be any worse than what I just got from Jarvis.”

  Behind him, Simon and Quinn parted. Rhys stepped aside, giving her a clear view of the board.

  “Wow.” She glanced at the two boxes of evidence. “This is all we have?”

  Rhys watched her closely.

  She doesn’t see it.

  “Yes,” Simon answered. “Just the two boxes.”

  She whistled. “This guy is organized.” She clapped her hands. “All right, let’s get to this. We have a killer to catch, hopefully before he kills again. I want a time line.” She turned, lips pursed with another command. “What? You guys need another cup of coffee?”

  “You don’t see it?” Simon queried.

  “See what? I got these freaky eyes, you know, I see everything.” She scanned the board. “All I see are victims and a killer on the loose. We have to stop him.” She pointed to the boxes. “Get them open. Let’s see what we have.”

  Rhys cleared his throat. “You don’t see the resemblance?”

  “Among these victims? Hard to miss, all in their late twenties, early thirties, blonde, attractive. So, our killer has good tastes.”

  “The resemblance,” Simon offered, “is to you. These women could all be you.”

  Hands on her hips, she studied the board for a long moment. “Because we are of an age and all blonde, then yes, I see a resemblance.” She closely inspected each license photo, and stepped back. “But they are not me, and I’m not them.” She joined Quinn and Simon in laying out the evidence.

  Rhys remained staring at the board. The victims were all pretty, at least they were before an unknown killer choked the life from them. His guts tightened with anxiety as he noted the last two victims each missing an eye. Their killer was collecting a trophy. He shuddered.

  I got a bad feeling about this one.

  * * *

  Martin Nash parked his silver Prius in the employee parking lot at his work. Beside him in his lunch box, he had packed all the tools he needed to complete a special task while in the underground utility tunnel. Excitement tingled through his nerves.

  Inside Global Cabling, he tapped on the computer to sign in, and collected his route for the day from Gregory, his route manager. As expected, he was on the south side of town.

  This means I can take care of my business with Haley right on schedule.

  She was so pretty, with long hair and beautiful, loving eyes. His heart banged against his ribs with hope and faith she was different from the others, that she was the one, the one who would finally say the words he needed to hear.

  Gregory’s voice invaded his thoughts and he glanced up right when Gregory pulled his eyes from Martin’s name badge. Even though they spoke nearly every day, Gregory still had to check the face with the name. I remain invisible, he thought, as my mother taught me. A man without a face.

  “Nash, you’re down in the hole today,” Gregory stated.

  Martin liked Gregory, appreciated his effort to call him by name, even if he had to check that name each day. “Yep, down in the hole,” he responded.

  “That’s because you know those tunnels better than anyone. I tell ya', if it were me, and I had your money and that big ol’ house all paid for.” Gregory glanced quickly around, adding, “I’d be outta’ here, in a heartbeat. You’re young enough. You need to get out and enjoy life.”

  “I enjoy everything I do,” Martin answered. “And you know what they say about idle hands.” He waved his route packet at Gregory and walked out to his van. He stowed his lunch bucket full of special equipment in the back and secured the rear doors. Rubbing his not-so-idle hands together, he fired up the van and pulled out of the parking lot, smiling all the way.

  Money is not why I come here.

  He drove to his route and double-checked the GPS for the location of the manhole cover, even though he knew exactly where he was. Gregory was right, no one knew the tunnel system from above or below ground better than him. After parking, he pulled out the orange cones, and opened the manhole. Then he placed the containment railing and dropped the ventilation hose down the hole.

  Before climbing down, he paused beside his van with an image of Haley in his mind. From her photographs on the dating site, she reminded him so much of his mother, even more so than Jenny or Tanya. But he had to have more information before they met, needed to step inside her life to determine if she might be the one.

  A voice inside rose to argue.

  That’s what you hoped about the others, and they failed.

  He pushed the voice aside. Nothing was going to ruin this one; he genuinely thought Haley might be the one to say the words. If not, then he would continue, because somewhere, she was out there.

  Something rubbed against his ankle; he looked down. A stray cat had mistaken him for someone who cared. He sucked his teeth and kicked the beast in the ribs, sending it sailing toward the sidewalk. It landed with a squeal and darted off.

  He reclaimed in his mind his favorite image of Haley to keep him company before climbing down the hole. His day’s cable maintenance route was clearly marked, all part of a section he’d been working on for the last month. Lucky for him, Haley’s neighborhood was close by. Using his underground maps, he located the data line to her apartment building.

  This part of information gathering gave him a sense of power. From down here in the tunnels, he was undetectable, truly invisible. More so than when he casually brushed against them in a crowd. More so than when he put on a disguise, staked out their life and entered their homes. More so than when he stood before them and asked, “What do you see?”

  He drove the short distance to Haley’s apartment building, parked and set up his cones, careful to maintain the facade of an unseen utility guy. At her building’s utility room, he selected the cable leading in and picked out the lines serving her apartment number. Within minutes he installed a tap in the line enabled to send a remote access malware into her computer.

  “That should do it. I now have control of your computer and everything it touches.” He hummed, collected his tools, and returned to his underground route. He finished his shift looking forward to what he would learn about Haley this evening.

  At home, he drove around back and into the basement garage. He loved this big old house. When he bought it, if he’d know what secrets waited for his discovery in the basement, he would have happily paid more.

  He held off on opening the feed from Haley’s computer, postponing the moment to let the excitement tickle his insides. Dinner was a simple plate of pasta and butter with a grilled chicken breast. He forced himself to chew slowly and savor his meal, knowing the voyeuristic dessert would be all that sweeter for his waiting.

  The malware was already doing its job. When he opened his computer, all he had to do was log in and turn on Haley’s webcam. With a tap, she was there on his monitor, busily moving about her apartment.

  His heart raced with the thrill of seeing her. She was a pretty girl, and he wanted her to be the one to say the words. “Soon, Haley,” he promised. “Soon I’m coming to see you.�
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  * * *

  At the FBI, after spending the day going over evidence and producing nothing of value, Dreya was desperate for a clue. “Come on, give me something,” she muttered. Some kind of lead so they could close this ugly case before this killer took another life.

  Unfortunately, the evidence simply wasn’t there.

  “Zip. Nada. Zilch,” she complained. They spread out the contents of the two boxes and discovered the only evidence accumulated was the victims’ history and the canvassing notes.

  “You’re kidding,” she said, while going through the boxes.

  Simon delivered the bad news. “Not kidding. We got no DNA, no witness, no prints, no fibers, no parking tickets, no crossed paths and no one with motivation.”

  Quinn added, “All the women were well liked with no drugs, no bad boyfriends, and no ex-husbands on the rampage. In fact, there were no suspicious extracurricular activities at all. So we have no connection between the victims of any kind except for one serial killer.”

  “Other than their looks, there’s nothing common between them,” Simon said. “I can take a more thorough look at their lives, if you show me where to work.”

  Quinn suggested, “These four happened in the first half of March. There’s got to be a connection to some dated occurrence; I’ll check historical data.”

  Dreya made a call and had two small desks with computers brought in and set up. This made her office crowded, but no more than they were used to. If she had to be crammed-in somewhere, these are the guys she would choose to be with. With a little technical support, Simon and Quinn soon dug in to their tasks.