Serenity's Deception (Texas Sorority Sisters Book 1)

Serenity’s Deception

Serenity’s Deception

Janice Olson

Lyndon Publishing

Texas Sorority Sisters

Book 1

Serenity’s Deception

Janice Olson

Lyndon Publishing

Serenity’s Deception

Copyright © 2012 by Janice Olson

Requests for information should be addressed to:

Lyndon Publishing

2200 S. Smith Berry Rd., Suite 200

Pantego, Texas 76013

ISBN: 978-0-9764915-1-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

For more information about Janice Olson, please access the author’s Website at: www.JaniceOlson.com, or email her at [email protected].

Cover image, original photograph manipulated © and owned by Lyndon Publishing, all rights reserved.

Lyndon Publishing Mission Statement:

To the best of our ability, publish and distribute inspirational products that offer exceptional value and Biblical encouragement to the world while honoring God.

Acknowledgements

I give thanks to God that He placed stories upon my heart when I felt unworthy of the task.

     And where would I be without my loving husband Harry. He is always my faithful cheering partner, encouraging me to think beyond my limitations, bolstering my confidence, and advising me to lean upon the abilities God has placed within me.

     Thank you, Love, for doing without and allowing me to use that time to write. Your labor of love has enabled me to meet my deadlines and made my dream a possibility, thank you again. You’re a king among men.

     And where would I be without all my wonderful critique partners who meet in my house weekly. You keep me sane, sharpen my mind, and help me laugh instead of cry. You women are terrific. Thanks for your loving support.

     My desire for you, my reader, is that you will find contentment, dare to hope, and learn to forgive as you read BJ’s story in Serenity’s Deception.                               

Blessings,

 
Janice Olson

You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded

in your book. Every moment was laid out before

a single day has passed. Psalm 139:16 NLT

T
entacles of apprehension wrapped around BJ Spencer as she climbed the dimly-lit, narrow stairwell. The musty scent of the old building filled the restricted passageway as each stair-tread creaked beneath her feet. A premonition that nothing good would come from this meeting gave her the overwhelming desire to turn around and head back to Galveston.

Not one for running, BJ clenched her purse strap tighter and trudged up to the second floor landing. A whiff of Old English Lemon Oil hung in the air and assailed her senses with images of Heritage House. For fourteen years she had done her best to suppress the memories of her lonely upbringing, but today the recollection of her austere childhood refused to stay buried.

Forlorn children entering.

Excited children leaving.

Always watching.

Never chosen.

BJ shoved the pictures to the back of her mind. A small poignant smile pulled at her lips. One thing for certain, her arrival today would stir up questions with the old gossips around town.

With no desire to return to Serenity, Texas, she’d fought hard to disregard the letter she received five days earlier.
An
urgent matter regarding Heritage House
made her nagging curiosity difficult to ignore the summons. Regardless how many reasons she could think up for staying away, there were many more for why she needed to leave her safe haven and come.

BJ hesitated in front of the diffused glass and mahogany door emblazoned with gold lettering—
Hampton, Hampton, & Rigger, Attorneys at Law
. Though the law firm occupied this same building before the town’s incorporation, she’d never had a reason to enter the law firm before today.

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. With a slight tremble in her hand, she turned the glass doorknob, making sure to conceal her misgivings. Entering the office caused long forgotten insecurities to come rushing back, punching holes in her well-fortified wall of defense.

A woman with short salt-and-pepper hair sat behind a desk, her eyes intent on the computer screen. She glanced over the top of the tortoise-rimmed frames and subjected BJ to a thorough inspection from head to toe.

“Ms. Spencer, I presume?” Her voice held a twinge of superiority. Her face, not quite a smile, not quite a frown, held a hint of inquisitiveness.

“Yes. I’m here to—”

“To see Mr. Hampton, of course.” The woman arched a brow. “He’s
been
expecting you.”

Her clipped words and the haughty lift of her chin left BJ a little stunned. Apparently, for this woman, old prejudices were hard to overcome. Not having experienced this type of deep-seated bias since leaving Serenity, BJ wondered if she could expect the same from Mr. Hampton.

The woman’s pale, nondescript eyes looked pointedly at the old Thomas calendar clock on the wall. “Take a seat. I’ll tell Mr. Hampton you’re here.”

Giving vent to her obstinate nature, BJ ambled around the antique-filled reception area. She ran her hand along the smooth edge of the beautifully crafted oak and glass front barrister bookcases full of old law books. Again suppressed memories flooded her mind of Heritage House. How many times had she polished the antiques while living there? Too many. She lowered her hand to her side, willing the images to recede to their dark vault.

Why was she summoned here? BJ worried her bottom lip with her teeth then just as quickly stopped.

She gazed above the credenza at the gilded framed painting of Seth Loveless, the town’s founder. Legend held in the 1800’s Seth sent off to Boston for the best lawyer money could buy and one who would see eye-to-eye with his way of thinking. That’s when the first Hampton, of a long line of Hamptons, came to Texas to make his fortune and to represent Seth Loveless in all matters legal and some … not so legal.

“Ms. Spencer?” A tall man wearing a navy, pin-striped suit which accentuating his thin reed-like body entered the room walking toward her, hand extended. Hair, the color of fresh snow, fluttered softly in the stir of air as he moved toward her.

BJ inclined her head. Her fingers were grasped by cold, thin-skinned hands. His astonishingly strong grip belied his frail appearance. In many ways, the man reminded her of Einstein with deep, etched lines and a slight stoop of his shoulders, but all resemblance stopped there. If she’d been a betting person, she would’ve waged his astute, grey eyes never missed a thing.

He offered a smile that never quite registered in his eyes. “I’m Horace T. Hampton, the third. I’m glad you’ve come. Shall we?” He motion toward an open door to the right of the desk where the secretary sat with watchful eyes.

Inside, an oval conference table surrounded by chairs filled the dark-paneled room. The one light fixture overhead and the two open draped windows facing Main Street, gave just enough light to keep the room from being oppressive.

“Ms. Carter, I’m not to be disturbed.” The lawyer shot the words over his shoulder without looking at the woman. “When Jason arrives, tell him to come straight in.”

The name caused a slight hesitation in BJ’s step. What a twist of fate if Jason was
her
Jace O’Connell. But surely, it wouldn’t be. What would be the odds?

 “Please, be seated.”                                                                                                   

She took the chair indicated. Horace T. moved around to the opposite side and sat across from her, four feet of dark oak separating them. A thick stack of files sat on the table in front of him, along with a pen, legal pad, and a pitcher of water surrounded by three glasses. A document sitting on top of the files caught BJ’s attention. Even though the type was upside down, the large centered script wasn’t difficult to read.

The Last Will and Testament of Madelyne Rose O’Connell Loveless
.

The O’Connell name struck home and resulted in a painful jab. Had Mrs. Loveless been related to Jace? She couldn’t remember. But being all of seventeen when she left Serenity, BJ was too young to pay attention to family connections. Back then, things like relatives didn’t matter much, at least not to her. She’d never known who her parents were.

Unlike most people, she knew nothing of her family history except she’d been born in Maine. How she got to Texas two months later was anyone’s guess.

End of story. End of family tree.

The door to the conference room swung open banged against the stopper coming to rest against a snake-skinned boot. A tall man, holding a buckskin-colored hat, stood just inside the doorway.

BJ’s breath hitched then stopped altogether until her starved lungs screamed for air.

A scowl rode deep over his pinched brows. His cold, blue-eyed stare pinned BJ with unspoken accusations. And if she were any judge … hate.

All uncertainty to the man’s identity was blasted to smithereens by the unruly, sandy lock of hair falling over the scar above his left eye. The same scar she had accidently given him as a child. His Irish good looks, rugged and bronzed by the sun, could still sabotage her heart.

Without a doubt, the man shooting the thunderous gaze in her direction was a mature, rigid-looking Jace—and once upon a time, her own Jason O’Connell.

C
ool, dark, and out of sight, the shadowed alley served his purpose and held a perfect view of BJ Spencer’s Jeep as well as the law offices across the way. He leaned against the hard brick wall of Shepherd’s Drugs & Emporium, his bad shoulder, stiff and aching.

Only a select few knew his real name. To most, he was known simply as
The Facilitator
. The name fit and he’d been using it for years. Whenever a job required discretion and no room for failure, they called the best … him.

First and foremost, he took pride in his work. His relentless vigilance always paid off, as it had today. She’d been inside now for at least ten minutes. He allowed a smile to creep slowly across his face as he pushed away from the wall.
Time to move.

Earlier, he knew she hadn’t been aware he watched from the alley when her black Jeep swung into the parking space in front of Hampton’s. Nor did she know his eyes continued to follow her every move—the car door opening, her sandaled foot on the chrome bar, a full view of her well-shaped body as she hopped down from the Wrangler to the blacktop.

His laugh hovered close to the surface when she clicked the keypad to lock the door. Security measures were the least of his worries.

When she slung the purse strap over her shoulder he noticed a slight hesitation before entering the building. She took a cautious look up and down the street, even a penetrating glance at the alley.

 
A careful sort
.

He smiled. He liked her. This one would present a challenge, which suited him. 

Pleasantly surprised that she’d turned out to be a looker, he figured his job wouldn’t be half bad. Her image flicked across his mind. He’d taken great pleasure observing the waves of long, silken hair sway with the fluid movements of her shapely black-clad hips. The vision of soft flaxen curls weaving through his fingers, gathering and lifting, breathing in her sweetness caused his body to react as the vision lingered.

Pure, plain, and simple, the woman had the same effect on him as a good swift kill.

What a shame. Normally, he enjoyed his job. But she was a might too pretty. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t scare easily, and he’d get a chance to know her just a little better. Perhaps have a little fun before he finished the job.

His hand fingered the hair trigger on the switchblade resting in his pocket. He pulled out the knife and pressed the button. Quicker than a blink, six inches of razor-sharp steel dangled below his curled fingers. He grinned as he felt the rush of excitement.

Better than a cold beer on a hot sunny day
.