Skewed: Darien Protectors I

By Rachael Molle'

Aubryanne Harrison wants nothing more than to take care of her son, Graham, and lead a quiet life away from the ugly scrutiny and suspicions in the aftermath of her husband’s questionable police methods and murder. Graham is disabled and keeps having “accidents” at school. The bruises and bumps aren’t serious, but as Graham’s fears of school and of his teacher escalate, Aubryanne believes he is actually being abused. She will do anything to protect Graham from the man she believes is hurting him, but when he turns up dead she becomes the primary suspect!  Aubryanne struggles to see God’s hand and purpose in the turmoil that her life has become as she and Graham become targets of an evil no one saw coming. Shane McCloud is an Army Ranger turned police detective bent on continuing the mission of taking out the world’s garbage. 

The evil in the world isn’t his only battleground, as the issues of his past tend to feed on the difficulties of the present. His integrity and professionalism are questioned when a criminal he apprehends ends up in the hospital with serious injuries. If God really cared, then how could he let these things happen?

There is a new player in the drug scene in Darien, Georgia. He is more dangerous and motivated than your typical thug selling pills in the shadows.  He has his own demons to overcome, but they fuel his desire for power and control. No one will stand in his way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886934939

Rachael Molle'

Rachael Molle' began writing at the tender age of ten. She interviewed family members about their hobbies and jobs and even hand-drew a cartoon or two for her own family newsletter. Poetry and short stories were her indulgence between sports and school-work. Reading was by far her favorite pastime and she spent many hours with Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Holt, and Agatha Christie. She began collecting postage stamps at fourteen, further fueling her imagination of far off places, cultures, and events in history. Rachael Molle' believes that every person has a place in God’s plan. She writes stories about characters who have challenges, both physical and mental as well as those who help them to overcome. Law enforcement and military stories are also near and dear to her heart. Rachael Molle' became a Christian one month before she married the love of her life. She and her husband reside in Kentucky with their four adult children.

Book preview

About the Author

Rachael Molle' began writing at the tender age of ten. She interviewed family members about their hobbies and jobs and even hand-drew a cartoon or two for her own family newsletter. Poetry and short stories were her indulgence between sports and school-work. Reading was by far her favorite pastime and she spent many hours with Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Holt, and Agatha Christie. She began collecting postage stamps at fourteen, further fueling her imagination of far off places, cultures, and events in history.

Rachael Molle' believes that every person has a place in God’s plan. She writes stories about characters who have challenges, both physical and mental as well as those who help them to overcome. Law enforcement and military stories are also near and dear to her heart. Rachael Molle' became a Christian one month before she married the love of her life. She and her husband reside in Kentucky with their four adult children.

Dedication

To Mike, forever my knight.

Copyright Information ©

Rachael Molle’ 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Molle’ Rachael

Skewed: Darien Protectors I

ISBN 9798886934922 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798886934939 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023904751

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Chapter 1

There was always something behind his eyes, nothing cruel or scheming, but nothing ever escaped his observation. Grey-blue depths that never let the world in, but calculated the intentions of everyone within their scope. Both comfortable and on guard as he leaned against the wall, she could not guess what he was thinking or where his mind was going. Her husband’s partner was more suited for the job than Jim had been.

He had to believe her! How she wished he would look at her with care and concern in his eyes like he had yesterday. Yesterday? The events that brought him to her home seemed like a lifetime ago.

Until he found the truth and understood her role in the events before him she could plead her innocence until the cows came home and none of it would matter. He was the best because nothing could dissuade him against the facts; the quintessential detective, minus the suit.

No, he said he believed she had nothing to do with the events of the last few days, but then that was before this; before he found her at the scene of a murder. The murder of a man she admittedly hated. Still, she had nothing to worry about, right? Would the facts really tell her story? He knew about the meeting, she even invited him to stop by.

But then, she was Jim’s widow. His betrayal tainted everything. His death a year ago under nefarious circumstances didn’t help. Why did it mean so much that he believed her innocence? A man had just been murdered, how self-centered could she be! Disgusted with herself, she sent up a quick prayer asking forgiveness for her callousness. No matter how she tried to redirect her thoughts, she was desperate to convince Detective Shane McCloud she was no killer. Circumstances what they were, and given the events of the past week, her confidence was shot. She had to steel her thoughts to get her emotions under control. She couldn’t cry, not now.

More noise from the hallway caught her attention and she peered over her shoulder. Official looking people walked into and out of the small room she used for physical therapy for students. Many had badges hanging from chains around their necks, other officers in uniform brought bags of something out of the room. Their faces reflecting the somber realty that something very wrong had occurred in the room.

The room where he told her to meet him.

The room where she heard men arguing and fighting. The room she went running from because she was afraid. If she hadn’t run, maybe he wouldn’t be dead right now. Shame overwhelmed her. She didn’t like the man and what he’d done to Graham, but she didn’t wish him dead. If she had made her presence known, maybe he’d still be alive. Her mind rehearsed the encounter she’d stumbled upon. Who was the other man? It sounded like they were arguing about money.

The doorway cleared and she could see someone begin to bring a stretcher out of the room. A long black body bag lay on top of the stretcher, its bearers’ struggling under the weight. Apparently, dead people weighed a lot. Dead. Murdered. She shuttered at the image that word brought to mind. She’d never seen so much blood. How could something like this happen?

It had just the same. And she was right in the middle of whatever this was. Was she as good as dead?

---

Detective Shane McCloud slowly closed his notebook after taking extensive notes about the crime scene and its victim. Annye? How could she be involved in this? She couldn’t be. He needed to talk to her and get the whole story. Did this have anything to do with Graham’s cryptic monologue the other night? If only he’d gotten here sooner. She couldn’t be involved in this, he’d known she was going to be here. She told him about her meeting, even asked him to stop by this morning. What he found when he entered the building nearly stopped his heart. Annye standing over Johnston, her hands bloody her face white as a ghost. He’d drawn her into his embrace, away from the grisly scene in front of her. Then the shakes began, shock. Her first words were flat, distant, He killed him.

Had she witnessed the murder? Was she somehow involved with the killer? He had to establish a timeline of events, had to pinpoint what exactly she witnessed and what risk she now faced.

There were two cars in the parking lot besides her’s when he arrived to question Evan Johnston. And then there was the little matter of Sergei Rheznik and his gorilla he’d seen coming from the school building as well. He would bet the Russian mobster wasn’t visiting his favorite teacher or making a donation to the art supplies fund. Rheznik was cold, calculating and smart. If only he could toss him behind bars simply for showing his ugly mug in public!

He hated to see the look of utter despondency on Annye’s face. He had to maintain his objectivity, a man was murdered in her therapy room, stabbed with a pair of scissors apparently from her desk. Still, there had to be an explanation that had nothing to do with her culpability. She couldn’t have anything to do this, could she?

Almost a year passed since his partner Jim’s death, and just this week his wife had been accused of stealing drugs, almost run off the road, had her home broken into. And now she was a person of interest and the only witness in a murder investigation. Coincidence? Not likely.

Not many cops attended Jim’s funeral, given the circumstances, but none of that was Annye’s fault. It was hard to stomach when a cop turned to the criminal side, at least that was the assumption. Jim didn’t have many fans in the department. He preferred to work alone and that left his coworkers with low motivation to trust him. Few clues were found at his murder scene other than the slug taken from Jim’s body, identified as a 9mm. Then files and evidence taken from other department investigations were found in a storage unit. As the evidence mounted, the picture it painted spoke of Jim’s involvement in an international drug ring. The betrayal left a bad taste in every one’s mouth, especially Shane’s.

Sadly, in one of his memories of that day, Annye was standing by her husband’s gravesite; quiet tears wet her face. A face that looked much like the one she wore now. One that said she felt totally alone. It tore at his heart and for a moment he thought of trying to offer her some comfort, but he couldn’t do that. She needed him at his best, calculating and focused to find out what was going on and who was responsible for the murder she might be charged with.

He refused to believe she was involved. Regardless of how things looked, he couldn’t buy it. This was the same Annye he’d seen gently redirect her son to appropriate behavior and then graciously helped him find the files of Jim’s he was looking for in her basement. Could it all have been an act? No. Annye was no killer, but he had to maintain his objectivity. Otherwise, he’d be no good to her or the investigation.

His job was to get to the truth. To bring a killer to justice. To bring a family some closure. All without getting his heart involved. Ha. Like that had ever been a problem before. Annye was the first woman he could remember that held his interest for more than five minutes. Even the short time she’d allowed him to hold her, felt right and good, punching a fist size hole in his resolve to stay away from relationships.

He walked out of the room and let his gaze fall on Annye. She looked small and troubled, but at the same time anger and frustration emanated from her frame. How was she involved in this? Why hadn’t she waited for him to accompany her to the meeting? He should recuse himself from the investigation. Trapp would have his hide if any of the evidence was thrown out on a technicality because of his involvement. Someone was going out of their way to frame Annye. One way or another they wanted her out of the picture, dead or in prison, it didn’t really matter. The evidence would show she had a history with the victim. A history that gave her motive to kill Mr. Evan Johnston.

---

Chapter 2

Annye looked down at the blood still on her blouse and hands. The coppery smell filled her senses. Her stomach clenched and she almost vomited. Her heart started to race again as her mind visited everything from the last few hours. How could any of this have happened?

Annye could feel Shane’s gaze upon her, but she refused to meet his eyes. What was he thinking? Like husband, like wife? Did she have a chance of appearing innocent in his eyes? She was grateful for his help and attention this week. Too many crazy things were happening. She didn’t feel safe and what about Graham? It was pretty obvious she wasn’t so good at keeping him safe. Shane’s presence in their lives this week had been an answer to prayer. Now, she could do nothing but close herself off again. He wouldn’t believe her, he knew the history.

Maybe she was just tired of shouldering life by herself and she misread his actions. Nothing should have felt personal. He needed information from her and she was happy to help. He was kind and polite and attentive. A friend. Nothing more intended. His kindness was evident in the engaging conversation and the careful way he approached the topic of Jim and what he was involved in prior to his death. She should have known he would be, Shane came to Jim’s funeral, and he’d called often to check on her and Graham. Maybe she should have told him about the phone call and the school issues and Graham’s ‘injuries’ earlier? That probably spelled out a motive for her, didn’t it? Wow, the things you learn when you are married to a cop! She could easily see how guilty she looked. And now, the person she believed was responsible for Graham’s pain and fear lay in a pool of blood. Dead.

Who killed him? Why? Did he injure another child in his class? Could a parent do this? Maybe, somehow someway it was an accident? Who else knew Mr. Johnston would be in his classroom this early? Rather ironic how her mind worked like that of a detective. There had to be someone who visited Mr. Johnston after the fight she overheard this morning. At least, she heard his voice during what sounded like a scuffle. She wondered what kind of timeline the police would put together and how she would fit into it. At the moment, the circumstances didn’t look good for her. She was covered in blood; the blood of a man she hated for harming her son. She realized they must consider her the prime suspect in Evan Johnston’s death. She sucked in a deep breath trying desperately to calm her heart.

As if sensing her distress, a female officer touched her elbow and motioned toward the hallway bathroom.

Annye smiled her thanks at the officer. Perhaps washing her hands would help, if only she could wash away the images and terror from her mind.

The officer escorted her to the bathroom and took out a cellphone that was clipped to her utility belt. Then she handed her a pair of sweat pants and a blue t-shirt. Annye looked at her with questioning eyes.

I am Officer Watkins. Mrs. Harrison, I need to take a photo of you standing against the wall as well as closeups of your hands and face. Then I need you to remove your shirt and pants and hand them to me. These are clothes to put on in their place.

Wh…why? I don’t understand.

Ma’am, your clothes are evidence. We have to document them and collect them as part of our investigation.

Oh, of course. Thank you. Can I wash my hands?

Yes, ma’am. First let me take the photos I need to and then please change your clothes first. Remember, disrobe and then hand me your shirt and pants before putting on the other clothes. The officer tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Yes, thank you, Officer Watkins.

Annye’s hands began to shake again. They really did think she had killed someone. Nausea surged and she fought hard to keep it down and herself upright. A migraine spiked and instead of the usual bright spots before her eyes, she saw prison bars. Ooh, man. She knew she should pray, but no words formed in her mind…or her heart. Where was God now?

---

Three weeks earlier…

Graham, hurry, Son, we are going to be late, Aubryanne called, hoping her son would not pick up on the anxiety in her voice. She could not be late to work this morning.

She heard shuffling on the stairs and Graham, her 9-year-old son walked stiffly down the stairs toward her. He looked like he’d been crying again. His shoes were on the wrong feet and his hair seemed to point in all directions atop his head.

She sighed, so much for not being late this morning.

What’s wrong, special guy? Aren’t you feeling well this morning?

She didn’t exactly expect Graham to answer her questions. He was nonverbal, one of the many complications of a genetic disorder called Fragile X Syndrome. Graham communicated in other ways and no one knew him like Aubryanne.

She gently put the back of her hand to his forehead to check for a fever. She shook her head, no that wasn’t it.

She touched his throat beneath his ears checking for swollen glands. No, not that either.

She looked into his eyes and saw more tears ready to be shed. What could be troubling him so?

Graham sat down on the stairs and put his head down covering his face with his hands. She sat beside him and gently pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back. Her hand travelled down to his side and when she ran her hand over a spot near his ribcage he jumped away from her smacking her hand as he moved.

What on earth?

Graham, let Mom see your side, she asked slowly and softly.

Teddy, Graham’s service dog appeared at the top of the stairs. He always knew when Graham was upset. He carefully made his way as close to him as he could get without falling off the stair, stopping behind Graham.

Her son continued to hug the other side of the stair, as far from her as he could get. His tears started again and he started to moan and stem, the situation clearly too stressful for him. Teddy leaned over his shoulder and licked the side of his face, and Graham absently touched his dog’s ear.

Graham, you know Mom loves you. Honey, please let me help you. I promise I am just going to look. No touching ok, just let Mom look.

Graham continued to stare at his hands and rock slightly to his own sound. Carefully and slowly she lifted his shirt so she could look at his chest.

There. Just a few inches down from his armpit was an awful looking welt. She worked hard to keep from gasping out loud. Upon closer inspection, she could see the outline of…something like fingers. As if someone had belted Graham with an open hand and then hung on for a moment or two.

Teddy moved closer to Graham wiggling himself beside him on the stair. Graham’s furry pal whined softly, trying to comfort his boy. Graham was in full stemming mode now. It would take at least a few minutes for him to calm down again. White hot fury rolled through Aubryanne, but she held it all inside. She couldn’t let anything out now. Graham might think she was angry with him. He couldn’t discern her moods and emotions. The intensity of her anger subsided and was slowly replaced by bone-crushing guilt and sadness. What kind of mother couldn’t keep her only child from being harmed?

Now it was Aubryanne’s turn to cry.

Chapter 3

He absently let the bag fall to the cement outside the entrance to the school. Another day. Just a few more and he would never have to step foot in this place again. He stuffed his key into the lock and heard the bolt slide back. Being held in high regard by the mighty Mrs. Hogan had its perks. Keys to the school so he could come and go as he pleased was one of them. At least, it made his ‘side business’ easier.

He smirked as he thought of the expression on the indomitable Mrs. Hogan’s face if she really knew what kinds of extracurricular activities her favorite teacher engaged in. Ha, he would almost pay money to see that.

He grabbed the bag of assorted paperwork from the sidewalk and pushed through the door. The fluorescent bulbs lit the hallway in what could be called anything but natural light. His loafers shuffled along the chipped and marked tile as he passed office and classroom on the way to his own personal dungeon. At least, no one was here this time in the morning. He could plan and check the nurses office to see if anything interesting had been locked up from the previous week.

Sure the prescriptions he appropriated from time to time gave him some extra cash, but this next shipment would give him ample reason to quit this good for nothing job and move on to more lucrative endeavors. He had to show himself as trustworthy to his suppliers.

He intended to do just that.

He shoved open the classroom door and flipped on the light. The lights flickered and buzzed to life. Lousy school couldn’t even spring for lights that worked in this wing. He hated that the powers that be had stuck him back here with the dumb kids. He deserved to be running the gifted program, after all he put that program on the map.

No matter. He’d soon get his and then there would be no more coddling babies and dealing with drool. He turned toward the quiet room at the end of the room. Yes, maybe today would be one of those days that the kids just needed a break or maybe something to hold them still so that they didn’t disrupt his work.

Yes. Today would be that kind of day.

---

Aubryanne kept her voice steady as she called her boss at the hospital and asked if she could take a sick day. Graham often came down with colds or stomach ailments so it didn’t come as a surprise to Martha, though Aubryanne didn’t want to push her luck with her supervisor. Sometimes understanding only went so far. This morning, it was all she could do not to sob on the phone.

She should call the social worker at the hospital again and document this latest wound. They would have to do something about Mr. Johnston now. It could only be him. There was no