Exploited
EXPLOITED
Book 4 in the
Kate Lange Thriller Series
Pamela Callow
About EXPLOITED
What if the face of justice belongs to…the accused?
When Kate Lange is hired to defend an unconscious woman shot while committing a puzzling crime, she is stunned to discover that the gunman is none other than Parliament’s own golden boy, Harry Owen.
What if the face of the victim belongs to…us all?
As Kate pieces together the case, the lines between guilty and innocent become blurred—while a devious cyber mastermind puts the finishing touches on an explosive plan.
Copyright
EXPLOITED
Copyright © 2016 by Pamela Callow
By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Pamela Callow.
Your support of authors’ intellectual property rights is greatly appreciated, as the legal purchase of their books is their livelihood.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9951543-7-7
Published by Pamela Callow
Cover image: Julia Carver
Praise for the novels of Pamela Callow
Praise for the novels of Pamela Callow
“Lawyer Kate Lange is back with another case that will test her courtroom skills, judgment and nerves. The suspense is intense, the action shocking and the plot intriguing. The insidious villain destroys a life, a reputation and a family, all as part of a chilling plan.”
— RT Book Reviews on Indefensible
“Indefensible is a superbly plotted and suspenseful thriller, with…a riveting, dynamic storyline.”
— Omnimystery, Mysterious Reviews
“Do yourself a favor and jump in the middle of these amazing books. You won’t be able to put them down until the final page.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Extremely well plotted, Callow’s debut novel is a hybrid of a police procedural and medical thriller. Heroine Kate Lange is a standout character, and readers will certainly look forward to reading her further adventures.”
— RT Book Reviews on Damaged
“Pamela Callow’s debut thriller Damaged reminded me of the best of Robin Cook: lightning paced, innovative, topical…and most of all, frightening. Part medical mystery, part bloody thriller, here is a debut that had me flipping pages until the wee hours of the morning.”
— James Rollins, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Damaged is a taut, edge-of-the-seat thriller with strong characters and a driving plot that’s inspired by emerging health technologies that may end up being, well, very bad for certain people’s health. Pamela Callow is Halifax’s answer to both John Grisham and Tess Gerritsen.”
— Linwood Barclay, internationally bestselling author
“Damaged is a chilling and darkly compelling tale that will grip you from the very first page. Pam Callow delivers a complex and spine-tingling thriller. She is definitely an author to watch.”
— USA TODAY bestselling author Julianne MacLean
“A compelling page-turner… Pamela Callow is a rising star.”
— Bestselling author Rick Mofina on Damaged
Dedication
No man is an island.
This book is dedicated with my deepest love and gratitude
to my brother, Steve Callow, who gave this book lift off,
to my husband, Dan, and my daughters, Julia and Katrina, who keep me going,
and to Linda Brooks, an unparalleled friend.
Prologue
Prologue
1:58 a.m.
It was the dead of night.
Dead.
Night.
The two words circled in the mind of Leah Roberts.
Which would strike first: death—or darkness?
You are being paranoid. This has been all planned out. No one will be home.
But her gut screamed: Have you lost your mind?
Aiden gestured to her from where he crouched under a large window at the back of the Owen house. Come on.
Even across the length of the back yard, she sensed his urgency. It was now or never. If they succeeded in pulling this off, the truth would be known.
Hadn’t her father always told her that she should do what she believed was right? Do it, Leah.
Do it.
She bent as low as her six-foot frame would allow and sprinted across the unkempt backyard of the Owen house. A hosta screened the cracked concrete foundation. She crouched behind the splayed perennial, aware of how inadequately the leaves hid her. Her heart thudded so hard that she thought it might break through the bone and skin that protected it.
Aiden rose to peer into the window. No lights were on. That reassured her. As did the overly long grass. The Owens must be away.
This will work.
She heard the window slide open. “We’re in!” Aiden hissed.
That was easy.
Too easy.
If the Owens were away, would they have left their window unlocked?
Aiden nudged her with his boot. “Come on!”
Leah half-rose, half-froze as her brain tried to analyze the situation.
Aiden reached down and grabbed her arm. “Remember why we’re here. It’ll be over in a few minutes.”
“I’ve changed my mind—”
A car door slammed a few houses over. They both jumped, scanning the street. “You have to do this, Leah. It’s important,” Aiden whispered. “I’m here for you, remember?”
Aiden’s face was covered in a balaclava. Only his eyes were visible. Those eyes had shone with love, gleamed with promise, and given her strength when she needed it most. “You won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t do this.”
He knew her so well.
He yanked her to her feet and hoisted her onto the windowsill, pushing her from behind, and then leapt over the windowsill into the house.
Once inside, they stood by the window. Searching.
The house was dark, but with the help of the moon and a bare window, they were able to make out the basic features of the room.
A large sofa, with a throw folded on one end, dominated the room. A side table stood on the other side, cluttered with a television remote control, tea mug, and a stack of newspapers.
None of those inanimate objects explained the strange odor that hit Leah’s nose.
It was a very human smell. But it was overlaid with the scent of decay.
It was the smell of life gone amiss.
Was this an old odor, perhaps of a mouse that had died in the walls?
Goosebumps skittered up the back of Leah’s neck. It didn’t matter how simple and fast this break-in was supposed to be, standing in someone else’s house in the dead of night felt so terribly wrong.
Dead.
Night.
Those words would not stop stalking her mind.
She threw a glance over her shoulder at the window.
It’s not too late, Leah.
Aiden tapped her arm and pointed.
She put one foot ahead of her.
No.
I can’t do this. It doesn’t matter if this is for the greater good.
It’s wrong.
Aiden gestured again, impatiently pointing to the desk. Do it, his eyes said.
Her heart pounded so hard that she thought it would flee and leave her stranded in this house.
She inched backward until her hip connected with the windowsill. She could just slip through the window right now, and no one would be the wiser.
Her hands gripped the wooden frame.
Aiden spun around and grabbed her arm. Through the thick knit of her hoody, she felt a sharp point press into her side.
It was a knife.
She froze.
What the hell is he doing?
Those eyes that had gazed at her with love, tenderness, passion, and promise, now drilled into her with a threat.
He jerked his head toward the desk.
She tried to ease away. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Just do it.”
She shook her head. “It’s wrong.”
His gaze narrowed. “Don’t think I won’t use this.” He pushed the knife harder into her side. She felt the tip penetrate her skin. “It will only take a minute. And then you’re home free, Leah.”
“No.” She tried to ease away from his knife. But the blade followed the curve of her flesh. She was strong, but Aiden was stronger. “Let go of me, Aiden!”
His thickly fringed eyes did not blink. “Joey will be next if you don’t do this.”
The words were uttered softly, but it made the threat all the more real.
She stumbled forward, her lover’s knife pushing her toward the desk.
Do it, his eyes said.
Do it, the knife said.
The dark of the Owens’ living room shifted around her.
It closed in with the unmistakable smell of death.
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Two hours earlier.
11:54 p.m.
The old front door was a better barometer than the weather forecast. When the weather was damp, Kate Lange’s door let her know. And judging by the door’s orneriness, it had been very damp while she was away.
Kate gave the door an extra push. It yielded with a lurch. She half-fell into the house, the rolling suitcase crashing into the back of her heels.
Seventy-five pounds of jubilant husky threw himself against her.
“Alaska! Hey, boy!” She dropped her purse, wrapping her arms around the dog that she had rescued when she first moved into this house. Clear blue husky eyes gazed at her with frantic relief that she had returned home. “I missed you.” She kissed his silky fur.
A blur of black barreled off the sofa, launching against her hip in an explosion of pug excitement. His paws scrabbled for her attention. “Hello, Foo!” With one arm around the husky—who delicately nibbled his devotion on her ear lobe—she scratched the velvety head of the pug.
This was a welcome that would never get old.
Even if she was still bemused that the pug Foo Dog temporarily resided in her house.
A week before her departure for Italy, Finn Scott—dog walker and home renovator extraordinaire—had arrived on her doorstep with a hammer in his back pocket, two coffees on a takeout tray, and a drowsy looking black pug under one arm.
Kate recognized the dog. He belonged to Kenzie Sloane, celebrity tattoo artist to the masses, Finn’s former lover—and the woman who had almost killed Kate just days before.
Kate had eyed man and pug warily. “Why are you bringing Kenzie’s dog here?”
Finn’s gaze was pained, but unapologetic. “She asked me to look after him while she was in jail.”
Kate’s interpretation of Kenzie’s request was a little less charitable: Kenzie, never one to miss taking advantage, had zeroed in on Finn’s soft heart.
And now Finn had to choose between his apartment or the pug, because his landlord threatened to evict him due to the building’s ‘no pets’ policy. Naturally, Finn chose the pug. Kate hoped it was because of his feelings for the dog and not the owner. What else could she do but offer him one of the empty bedrooms in her house? She had the space.
She reluctantly had to concede that the timing had been perfect down to the hour. She had just had tea with her elderly neighbor Enid Richardson. “You need a change of scene,” she’d said to Kate. “I’ve been worried about you. You seem to be a ghost of yourself.”
Ha. A ghost. How true. But it was the ghost of others from her life that kept her up at night. The Body Butcher. Her sister Imogen. John McNally.
Kenzie Sloane. Those eyes…daring Kate to kill her.
She shivered.
Enid’s bright blue gaze had narrowed. “You see? A warm Italian sun will do wonders for you.” She patted Kate’s hand
“But what about you, Enid? You haven’t been well. I don’t want to leave you.” In case anything happens, she mentally added. She didn’t think she could bear to lose Enid. Not yet.
Not ever.
“I’m feeling better.” She gave Kate a reassuring smile. She did look a bit better. She had some color in her cheeks. “And I’ve got Corazon to help me. You, on the other hand, look like you need to get away from Halifax. Italy will be good for your soul.”
Goodness knows that her soul had needed a little help. It had been thrown into darkness. Over and over again. She didn’t know why her life had become so closely entwined with death. But when she had pointed that revolver at Kenzie Sloane and gloried in the urge to pull the trigger…
“It takes guts to do this, Kate. Not everyone can be a killer.”
That memory sickened her. Terrified her.
And knowing that Alaska would be more than happy to have Finn look after him, she had decided to extend her initial two weeks’ vacation to four, and go for broke. It was Italy or bust—for her soul. Especially after Nina Woods, the Managing Partner of McGrath Woods, had told her that the firm was concerned about all the salacious media attention that Kate had been receiving as a result of her teenage history with Kenzie Sloane.
Kate had flown from Halifax on a drizzly June day, her head pounding from the concussion she’d suffered at Kenzie Sloane’s merciless, masterful hands. She had turned off her phone and her computer, allowing her concussed brain a chance to recover from the trauma it had suffered. Italy was a perfect distraction. Gorgeous architecture, a delight around every corner. She allowed herself to be caught entirely in the present, with no thought of the past, and no cares about the future.
And now, four weeks later, she was back. The question was whether the healing from the warm Italian sun had penetrated deeply enough. Or whether being back in the bedroom where her dead sister’s box of mementoes sat in the closet would make her Italian sojourn a gelato-flavored dream.
“Finn? Are you home?” she called.
Foo Dog licked her hand. She had to admit, he was a cute yin to Alaska’s majestic yang.
“Hey, you’re back!” Finn’s sun-streaked head appeared around the doorway to the kitchen. “I’m cleaning up the dishes. Just a sec.” He hurried from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth, which he tossed onto his shoulder to free his arms for a hug. “How was your flight?”
She returned the hug, and then kicked off her shoes. “It was long. It’s good to be home.”
“You look good. Better than you’ve looked for a while.” He grinned. “And you’ve finally put on some weight.”
Kate gave a rueful smile. “Who could resist all that pasta? And the gelato? And the bread…”
“You only live once, Kate.” He reached down and scooped up Foo.
“Ha! You’re preaching to the choir. And I think my body has decided that it wants to live life to its fullest, if you get my drift.” Her pants felt a little too snug for comfort on the flight home from Italy.
“Trust me, a man likes a little something to hold on to.”
Had he said that to Kenzie Sloane?
She banished the memory of the tattoo artist from her mind. “Speaking of gaining weight, you could use a little extra meat on your bones.” His Florence + The Machine t-shirt hung loosely from his broad shoulders. “I might have to send you to Italy.”
“I have to set a good example for Food Dog.” Finn scratched under the pug’s chin. “No one told me that pugs are on perpetual diets.” Foo yawned contentedly in Finn’s arms. Finn jerked his chin toward the wall behind Kate’s head. “What do you think of the paint job?”
“I love it!” Kate gazed around her. The walls of the foyer had been painted sea foam blue. And the formerly dark-stained wood trim gleamed with crisp white paint. The entry looked fresh and inviting. “It came out better than I imagined. It makes the place look modern.”
Pride gleamed in Finn’s eyes. “Yeah, this old house is beginning to get a spring in her step.”
“And the roses are gorgeous.” A bouquet of exquisite pink roses that captured the sunrise in their velvety depths added an elegant note. “Are these from Muriel’s garden?” Muriel was the other half of the dynamic elderly Richardson sister duo. Although Alzheimer’s disease robbed Muriel of cognitive function and memory, it had not yet devastated her ability to create beauty from the earth. She maintained her garden with dogged devotion, occasionally over-pruning when she had forgotten she had pruned something just minutes before. But her garden bloomed under her care. Sometimes Kate wondered if the plants knew their caretaker needed them as much as they needed her. For there was no question that Muriel’s garden was the most glorious on the street.
“Yes. Enid and Muriel have been awaiting your return. They invited you to tea this weekend.”
“Has Enid been well?”
Finn nodded. “Yeah, she seems back to her old self.”
“Thank goodness.” Her smile quickly turned into a yawn. “Sorry. It’s five a.m. in Italy.”
“You need to get to bed. Do you want help with the bag?”
Kate shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.” She climbed the stairs, grateful that Finn had turned on the light in the hallway. She opened the door to her bedroom. It looked cozy and serene.
She kicked off her shoes.
Her bed, pillows fluffed, invited her to lie down. She dropped her purse by the foot of the bed, and unzipped her carry-on. She knew she would regret not unpacking her suitcase, but one look at her closed closet door made her heart sink.
She wasn’t ready to re-examine Imogen’s box of belongings, not yet. The one and only time she had examined them, Kenzie had tried to kill her. There was too much trauma trapped in that document box. She was not ready to revisit it.
It took only a few minutes to brush her teeth and climb into bed. Alaska waited for her, an expression of sheer bliss in his eyes as he circled his large white frame on the fur-covered dog bed.
“Ah…” She slid between the sheets with a sigh of contentment. Alaska echoed her sigh, tucking his head on his paws. He gazed at her with such love that her throat tightened.
“I missed you, boy,” she murmured.
His tail slowly swished.
Her laptop, deep within her purse, chimed.
With a groan, she slid out the computer, and flipped it open. The inbox had an alarmingly high count.
Her gaze scanned the list of senders. Exhaustion blurred her vision.
But then she saw the name that had been on her mind since she boarded her flight home. He had responded to her email quickly. She had only sent it in the departure lounge of the Milan airport.
“Hallelujah!” she murmured.
John Hillcroft had agreed to meet with her tomorrow morning.
Chapter 2
Chapter 2
11:58 p.m.
The house was suffocatingly dark.
Or maybe it was just dark.
And he felt suffocated.
Harry Owen pushed the door a little wider, hoping that the night air would disperse the dread that rushed to meet him. But the night air refused to cross the threshold of his parents’ house.
He stepped inside.
There was an odor that made his throat catch. It had grown stronger as the weeks passed.
It was the odor of a dying body.
It was the odor of his mother.
He longed to keep the door open. He longed to turn on his heel and leave.
And not have to deal with what lay in the bedroom in the back of the house.
But he couldn’t leave. In fact, he had come home a day early because he knew that time was running out.
His ears strained for any sound from the back of the house. No late-night canned laughter from the television. So, his parents were already asleep.
Sweat dampened his forehead as relief rushed through him. He was off the hook.
For tonight.
He could have a nightcap, check his emails, and get some sleep. God knows he needed it. Too many 06:25 a.m. flights to Ottawa, too many late night flights back to Halifax.
His mother had been worried that he would get sick from exhaustion, but he downplayed her concerns. I need to be here, Ma. She thought it was because of her. But really, it was because of him. He had squeezed her hand, the bones as brittle as twigs of saffron.
Would she allow him to hold her hand after he told her what he had come to confess?
His father had left on the light in the foyer, a small chandelier that had yellowed with age. Light shone blearily through the dusty pendants. He closed the front door, pushed the deadbolt above the knob into place, and then slid the bottom deadbolt. The yellow warning light glowed from the alarm panel. Once again, the alarm was offline. He wondered if his father had remembered to call the security company.
He doubted it. He and his father were in crisis mode now, the days stretching out as daily responsibilities were abandoned to focus on his mother’s last moments.
He switched off the overhead light and hurried upstairs. His childhood bedroom, which had lost its ability to comfort years ago, sat to the right. Despite the fact he had stayed at his parents’ house off and on for the past few months, the top level of the house had the unmistakable miasma of neglect to it. For years, his parents had slept on the main floor to accommodate his father’s lack of mobility. But his mother had converted their old bedroom upstairs to a library, and she had once enjoyed spending a few hours a day in there while his father napped.
He hung his garment bag on a hook mounted on the back of his bedroom door. The bag covered the little lines that marched proudly up the doorframe. Next to each milestone the date and his height had been inscribed, first in his father’s bold penmanship. Then, after his ninth birthday, in his mother’s neat printing.
His phone vibrated in his breast pocket. It was almost like a second, electronic heartbeat, it vibrated so often. But the phone calls no longer caused his pulse to accelerate, as it had when he was first elected. Back then it had been exhilarating: was it a constituent, a senator, the Prime Minister himself? He had answered the calls proudly, the youngest MP from his region, a junior lawyer with the halo of potential over his head.
The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!
Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!
Read the complete book free online → 🔗
Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!
Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!
Happy Reading!