Blood Debt (Touched Series Book 1) Read online

  BLOOD DEBT

  Touched Series, Book 1

  Nancy Straight

  Copyright 2012 Nancy Straight

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws and all rights are reserved, including resale rights; you are not allowed to give or sell this book to anyone.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features, are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used for reference only. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are 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.

  Acknowledgements:

  Blood Debt would not have been possible without the support of several incredible people. Linda Brant, my aunt, has painstakingly edited and polished Blood Debt. Rebecca Ufkes, Kris Kendall, Charles Young, Melissa Balentine and Jennifer Nunez volunteered to be Beta Readers - their feedback was invaluable.

  Interestingly enough, I didn’t pick the title for this book or this series – I let friends and fans do that for me. Many thanks to Keren Spencer for naming the book Blood Debt and to Bridget Howard for naming the series Touched. It was quite an amazing feat when neither had read it, and I think you’ll agree they could not have come up with two more appropriate names!

  The beautiful cover was designed by Joy Stroube at Dreamscapecovers.com.

  I wish there were a way to single out each of the independent authors out there who have helped and inspired me along the way, but a thank you to each one would be a book in itself. A few that I cannot leave out are Shelly Crane, Rachel Higginson, Charlotte Abel, Amy Bartol and Shannon Dermott – each one has been an incredible inspiration to me and I highly recommend their books!

  Book bloggers are the unsung heroes for indie authors. There have been many that I feel indebted to, and you can find a list of great ones on my blog: authnancystraight.blogspot.com One that deserves a special place on this page is Mandy at: twimom101bookblog.blogspot.com She has become a dear friend and is a true indie advocate.

  Finally, my husband, Toby, has been supportive of my every adventure. Thanks for all the nights you made dinner and did homework so that I could follow my dream!

  Thanks to you all!

  Dedication

  For my sons, Alex and Zack, your humor and imaginations inspire me every day. No mother could be more proud or appreciative than me.

  Chapter 1

  Camille

  I stared at the phone. I had his number. I had his name. Twenty-two years. . . after twenty-two stinking years of fantasizing about who he was, what he was like, where he was - you’d think I would have dialed by now. The thing is - nobody, anywhere, could live up to my expectations. I’d always envisioned this successful, educated, lead-singer, movie-star, rich, kind of father. It was great to think that he was this wonderful, benevolent man, who one day would swoop in and introduce himself, then whisk me away in a limo. Yeah, that never happened.

  I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t dying to meet him. When I would ask my Mom, she would always tell me, “Your father was a wonderful man. We had a few magical days together, and he left me with the most amazing gift to remember him by.” Sure, that’s what a ten-year-old wants to hear. She would never tell me his name, where he lived, or anything about him other than he didn’t live in California.

  It didn’t matter how hard I pleaded, I think she preferred that he be a mystery. Who would have guessed all those times I said I would trade anything to meet him, I never thought I’d trade my rock, my anchor. . . my mom. Ten minutes before she took her last breath, she grabbed my hand and choked out, “Your father. . .lives in Charleston, South Carolina. His name is William Strayer. He deserves to know you. Tell him . . . tell him I said, ‘Goodbye.’”

  A few breaths later, she slipped away as death carried her to her final peace. I cried for weeks. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t process losing my mom and getting the information I’d been begging her for my whole life in the span of ten minutes. All those wagers I’d tried to make with God, to find out who he was - I’d told God I would trade anything - I never meant my mom. I’m not crazy enough to think that God had stolen my mom just so I could find out who my father was, but I had several weeks of erratic thoughts.

  I googled him. He was easy to find. He’d been in the same house, in the same job, for better than thirty years. Everything I found out about him on the internet pointed to an average guy, with an average life. He wasn’t a rock star. He wasn’t famous. He wasn’t dead.

  I took one final breath, steadying myself. I had my phone in one hand and the slip of paper with all his information on my lap. I dialed the number, wondering what I was going to say to him. Before I could press “send,” I chickened out and went back to Mom’s bedroom to go through more of her things. Peggy, my mom’s closest and only friend, had offered to come over to help me, but I was twenty-two. I shouldn’t need help with this. Even if Peggy was her best friend, I knew Mom wouldn’t want her going through her things. My mom had always been a private person.

  Mom knew it was coming. She’d been sick for a long time. Her closet, that normally looked crammed with outfits from the last several decades, wasn’t as packed as the last time I’d seen it. Mom must have gone through some of her things before she died because the walk-in closet could actually be walked into.

  Tucked in the far back corner, on a shelf, was a treasure box of sorts: a wooden box with the key inserted into the lock. Whatever was inside, Mom wanted me to see it. I found yellowing movie ticket stubs for a title I’d never heard of, an airline ticket from twenty-eight years ago, a crumpled up photograph of my mom holding two babies, and a tourist shot glass from the Crazy Horse Monument in South Dakota. It seemed an odd set of treasures for her to have hidden away. I looked at the old plane ticket: it was for an Angela Chiron - no one I knew. I gently closed the wooden box after I’d returned her “treasures” to their resting place. As I stared at sequined sweaters, stretch pants, dress slacks and dresses, I found myself wanting to make that phone call far more than I wanted to go through my mom’s life.

  William. Did he even know I existed? He probably had a family of his own. What would they think of me? It had always been just my mom and me. She didn’t have any family, at least other than me. Her parents died when she was young, and she’d been an only child. I think her final gift to me – my father’s identity - was her way of not leaving me so alone in the world.

  I went back to the living room, sat on the sofa, and put my feet up on the coffee table, almost begging Mom to walk into the room and tell me to get my feet off of it. A lonely tear rolled down my cheek. No one would be walking through the doorway to tell me to put my feet down. I hated the idea of being alone.

  I took one more deep breath, picked up the slip of paper, and dialed his number again. This time my shaking finger pushed, “Send.”

  A woman’s voice answered the phone, “Hello.”

  I stammered, terrified of this call, not sure what to say to the woman. “Uh . . . hi, . . . is William there?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Camille.”

  “Camille, is this a sales call?”

  “Uh, no. Definitely, no. Is William home?”

  “Just a minute.”

  I could only assume that had been William’s wife. I wanted to hang up. I saw my hand shaking and p
rayed that I wouldn’t have full-blown convulsions. I had practiced this phone call several times, but realized I should have written things down. My fear began crippling me, and I drew a blank. What would I say? “I’m your love child from twenty-three years ago and wanted to say hi.” Not the best approach.

  I heard a gruff voice come on the line, “Hello, this is Will.”

  My voice didn’t work. My mouth opened but nothing came out.

  “Hello, is anybody there?”

  I cleared my throat, closed my eyes and answered, “Uh, yes. Hi, William. I’m Camille.”

  A friendly voice responded, “Okay. Camille who?”

  “Right. I’m Angela Benning’s daughter.”

  “Angela Benning? I’m still not making the connection. Are you sure you have the right William?”

  “William Strayer from Charleston, South Carolina?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are the only one I found in information. Have you ever been to San Diego?”

  “Well, yes. I travel there, but I don’t know an Angela Benning.”

  “Not even one you knew twenty-three years ago?” Silence answered me back. I wasn’t sure if he had hung up the phone, if the connection had been dropped, or if he was too stunned to answer. “William, are you still there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m still here. I did know an Angela in San Diego. She was a bartender in a hotel.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Camille, how old are you?”

  I did have the right person, and at least I didn’t have to draw the connection out for him with big purple crayons. “I’m twenty-two.”

  “Twenty-two?”

  “Yeah, my birthday was last month.”

  More silence. . . I could feel him doing the math in his head. This was a bad idea. I braced myself for him to deny he was my father, that I was some leech after him for money. His voice spoke softly, “Camille, I don’t know what to say. Your mother is an incredible woman.”

  “Was.” I corrected, “She was an incredible woman.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. What happened?” Sincerity was wrapped in his voice.

  “She died of breast cancer a few weeks ago. Right before she died, she told me how I could contact you.”

  “So, you’re my. . . I mean she wouldn’t have . . . if you weren’t mine.”

  I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. “Right. I don’t need anything. I just . . . I guess I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Camille, you have to believe me, if I had known I would have . . . I didn’t know I had a daughter.”

  “That’s okay, William. I knew I had a father – I mean from a biological perspective, but Mom would never tell me anything about you, well, not until the night she died.”

  His voice sounded heavy, “Call me Will. Everyone does. So, she didn’t want you to contact me?”

  “I guess not, well . . . she never told me anything about you. I never knew your name until the night she passed.”

  “You said that was a few weeks ago?”

  “Yeah, she went into the hospital the week after my birthday.”

  I heard hopefulness in his voice that I didn’t expect when he said, “When can I meet you?”

  This was a question I wasn’t really prepared for. All those practice conversations had more to do with introducing myself and convincing him that I was his daughter. I thought I had prepared for every possible response. I never considered that he would want to meet me. “Uh, maybe the next time you come to California?”

  “Camille, I’ve got a lot going on for the next month. Getting out to the west coast would be hard. Would you consider flying to South Carolina?”

  My heart started doing cartwheels. Not only did I have a real father - he wanted to see me! Trying not to gush at his suggestion, “Um, maybe. I’ve got a bunch of stuff I’ve got to take care of. You know, estate stuff for Mom, and a job.”

  “I could arrange for a lawyer to take care of that for you. Camille, I don’t want to put this off. I . . . I could make arrangements now. You could be on the red eye tonight.”

  “Will, you don’t know anything about me. I’ve got a job. I can’t just get on a plane.”

  “You’re my blood, Camille. Angela was a magical woman, I . . . I had no idea. If you can’t come to me, I’ll juggle some things around. I have to meet you.”

  Huh, that’s the same thing Mom had said about him: that he was “magical.” I had googled him a few weeks ago. I knew he was somehow involved with finance and investments and ran a firm in Charleston. Since my job was working at a department store as a cashier, reality was that it would be much easier for me to leave my job for a few days. As I looked around the apartment, there was too much of her here. Not that it was a bad thing, but given the last several months, it might be nice to have a change of scenery, for a few days.

  I took a deep breath, “Okay, I can call into work and have someone cover my shifts. But I don’t have the cash for a plane ticket or motel or anything.”

  “I’ll take care of it. How soon could you be on a plane?”

  “I guess tonight. Do you need to talk to your wife or anything?”

  “Gretchen will be happy to have you as a guest. She’s always wanted a daughter as much as I have.” I felt a warm glow in my chest. The emptiness of losing my mom would stay with me forever, but I wasn’t alone. I had a father. We exchanged email addresses so we could coordinate the flight. I wondered if this was some sort of a dream. I had run a background investigation on him within days of finding out who he was. All I really knew about him was he paid his taxes, he owned several properties, he had never been arrested, and he hadn’t had a traffic ticket or an accident in the last seven years.

  I called my best friend in the world to let him know what had just happened. He was so excited for me that he was at my door within twenty minutes. Daniel was like the brother I never had. We looked enough alike that sometimes people assumed I was his sister. He had dark hair, kind of that in between length – it was short, but shaggy. His eyelashes were gorgeous. For a long time I teased him, calling him “Maybelline Eyes,” and he had this way of looking at girls that made them all melt – well, all but me. Daniel was on the surf team in high school and even got a scholarship to surf in college, so there was never a shortage of beach babes looking to hang out with him. We’d never been more than friends, and I knew we both liked it that way. We each had a ready-made date for all the big social events, weddings, engagement parties, holiday parties, etc – but none of the romantic attachments that came with it.

  Daniel gathered me in a large bear hug and swung me around. “You talked to him? He wants to meet you?”

  “I did! He wasn’t freaked out about it or anything. He’s flying me to South Carolina, tonight, to meet him.”

  Daniel’s enthusiasm diminished in front of me, “Tonight? Why the rush?”

  I slapped his shoulder, “I’m his daughter. He wants to meet me.”

  “Did he say why he never bothered to come see you?”

  “I think my mom hid us from each other. He didn’t even know that I existed until I called.”

  “Just like that, he wants you on a plane? What about a DNA test?”

  “He didn’t ask for any proof. He said he remembered her.” I left out the part where he said she was magical – Daniel knew that’s what my mom had said about him.

  “That must have been some phone call. Are you sure he’s all right?”

  “I’m not stupid. I did a background check.”

  “That just means he’s never been caught.”

  I punched Daniel’s arm a second time, and he feigned pain. “I’m just saying, you don’t even know the guy. He could be a serial killer for all you know. There’s probably a reason your mom never let the two of you meet.”

  “She told me w
ho he was right before she died. She must have wanted me to find him.”

  “Maybe. How about I go with you?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I think this is something I have to do on my own, but keep your cell phone on you in case I need you.”

  He frowned with his eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t like it. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Stop worrying. I’ll be back on Sunday. If it gets weird, I’ll come back sooner.”

  “If I don’t get a call every day, I’m getting on a plane.”

  “Right, to fly to South Carolina and do what? I’ll be fine. He sounded nice.”

  “You’ve wanted to meet this guy forever. Don’t get your hopes up. Angela was a smart lady. She must have kept you two apart for a reason.”

  “Maybe she just didn’t want the hassle of sharing custody.” This was the lie I’d told myself when I was little. My mom never had boyfriends. She always told me her life was full, and she didn’t have room for one more person in it.

  “Maybe, but maybe he’s a douche, and she didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  My heart sank. I didn’t have the strength to argue with him. I knew he was right. I knew Mom hid his identity from me, but I didn’t care why. Everyone needed family, no matter how weird they might be. I was willing to take a chance: one crazy father was better than nobody.

  For the next fifteen hours, through two airports and the whole time I was in the air, Daniel’s words continued to echo in my mind, “She must have kept you two apart for a reason.” Why would she have kept us apart? Was she ashamed of him? What did he do that made her not want him in her life? She’d never, for as long as I could remember, had a boyfriend – had he done something to her?

  Chapter 2

  The wheels touched down at the Charleston Airport. Although I wasn’t a world traveler, I recognized that it was a very small airport, two whole luggage carousels in baggage claim. I had been to San Diego’s airport lots of times; it was like a maze of endless signs and was seriously intimidating even for the locals. Charleston’s was small and felt welcoming. I had found pictures of Will on the internet. I knew he was near fifty, with graying hair, distinguished face, brown eyes, and a nose that was slightly larger than his face required. Not unattractive, but I doubt he’d ever been a huge heart-throb. The pictures I found of him were all with suit jackets and ties, so I scanned the baggage claim area for a middle-aged man in a suit. It was 10:30 a.m. on a Wednesday. I saw a few people who had the right attire, but none looked like the picture I’d downloaded of him. I kept checking my phone for a message from him, but nothing.