Taz Read online

  Copyright © 2015

  All rights reserved.

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

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted, under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.

  Violation of copyright, by domestic or foreign entities, is punishable by law, which may include imprisonment, a fine, or both.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9861385-0-8 (E-Book)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9861385-1-5 (Paperback)

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Edited by: Ashley Blaschak

  Formatted by: Erik Gevers

  Cover by: Louisa Maggio

  http://lmbookcreations.wix.com/lm-creations

  A special thanks to Catherine Wright, my PA and the rest of my street team! Thanks to all of my readers who love Taz and wanted more of him! I hope I did you proud with this story! (Erica, Catherine, Tracy, Kim, Amber, Eva and Daisy).

  Thanks to Janett Gomez for beta reading, and even though Slate is your G-Man, I appreciate your help and guidance with Taz!

  Ashley B.—my best cheerleader, thanks so much for the continued encouragement and the awesome content and line editing!

  To Erik, thanks so much for being patient and extremely tolerant of my propensity for slipping changes/additions/and last minute instructions to you during the formatting process!

  This book is for Eric, the FBI agent who has read my G-Man Series, but only when his undercover partners aren’t watching! I have it on good authority that you would make a great cover model, so by all means, hit me up if interested!

  I would also like to dedicate this book to all of the FBI, CIA agents, and counterterrorism operatives who put their lives on the line every single day to keep this country safe from those who would bring harm to America.

  While this book is a work of fiction, there are elements contained within the pages that are fact. The FBI has identified at least twenty-two verified Islamic terrorist training camps in the U.S., the first one dating back to 1979.

  Copy and paste this link into your browser for more information on the FBI’s investigations along with listed locations of verified jihadist training camps in the United States. Americans can be vigilant without being vigilantes:

  www.westernjournalism.com/22-islamic-terrorist-camps-us/

  And to all of those individuals in federal, state and local law enforcement agencies: Be careful out there.

  Let me introduce myself to you in case we haven’t met before. My name is Trace “Taz” Matthews. I’m thirty-three years old, happily married, and the father of two.

  My wife, Lindsey, is twenty-four; my daughter, Harper, is three; and my son Jackson is sixteen months.

  I have a great life. Never thought I’d be a family man, but that’s exactly what I am these days and I have no fucking regrets about that whatsoever. I met Lindsey five years back, but actually got to know her, if you know what I mean, shortly after my buddy Slate married Sammie—Lindsey’s mom. They’ve got two boys as a result of that, and Slate is totally into the whole gig.

  Suffice it to say, I was Lindsey’s first and I don’t take that sort of thing lightly. She was damn obstinate that I would be her first lover, despite my reluctance to do the deed. Yeah, I was kind of an asshole with her about that, but shit—you need to know, at the time, I was totally focused on finishing my degree and climbing the ladder within the FBI to get where I am today. The last thing I needed was a clingy chick draped over me because I happened to rock her world.

  No brag; just fact.

  Oh, I guess I didn’t mention it before, but yes, I’m in the BAU of the FBI, and no—I do not know Dr. Spencer Reid or the other dude that Shemar Moore plays on the show. Do you realize how often I get asked that question?

  It’s a great show and we watch it but, hey, it’s Hollywood and our jobs are not nearly as glamorous as it portrays. Still, I wouldn’t do anything else. I’m totally committed to my family and my career…in that order.

  So, in a nutshell, I’m married to Lindsey. I adore Lindsey and our kids. Lindsey’s mom, my mother-in-law, Sammie, is married to my best friend, Slate. He’s also in the FBI, though not in the BAU, and he’s a bit older than me and a bit younger than Sammie. They are perfect for one another. If someone would’ve told me five years ago that Slate would be a totally domesticated, pussy-whipped son of a bitch, I would’ve laughed in their face. Now I guess I’ve got egg on mine.

  But the fact remains—he is and he tells me that I am, so what the fuck? I wouldn’t change a thing.

  Lindsey is a great wife and mother, and she and Sammie have an interior decorating business they run out of our respective homes, specializing in nurseries and playrooms.

  So, I guess I needed to fill you in here because all of the above is about to change. I didn’t plan for it to change, and if I’d known then what I know now? Well, you know what I’m gonna say don’t you? I wouldn’t have agreed to Slate’s request—or shit, maybe I would have. I’m never coerced into anything I do…personally or professionally.

  All I know is that our world changed shortly after that.

  And here’s how it all went down.

  “Lindsey!” I hollered from the bathroom while shaving. “I’m gonna be late getting home tonight.”

  “What else is new,” she replied, a slightly irritated tone laced in her voice. “Work again? Who’s the psycho you’re tracking now?”

  “Slate,” I called out, wiping the shaving cream from my chin.

  “Huh?”

  I laughed, splashing on some aftershave lotion. “Naw, babe. He wants me to have a drink with him after work. Says he has something important to discuss with me.”

  “Sounds ominous,” she replied.

  Just then Harper came bustling into the bathroom, clutching her favorite teddy bear, and clearly quite upset.

  I’m a Ph.D., so I can recognize that shit. “What’s up little girl?” I asked, squatting down so that we’re eye to eye.

  “Look Daddy,” she said, clearly indignant. “Jackson break ‘Harley!”

  Yeah, she named the bear after my bike. No pressure from me, I swear.

  I inspected the bear and saw that some of the stitching around the right ear was coming out, and the fur there was matted and damp. My little man had been teething, big-time, so I could only guess he’d been using the bear as a teether.

  “Well, sweet girl,” I replied, pulling her against me and planting a kiss on her cheek, “I’m betting Mommy can sew that up for you and he’ll be good as new.”

  She nodded and thought about it. “He do again, Daddy.”

  “Hmm,” I said, sitting back on my haunches and looking at her. “You know what? I bet if you keep it out of his reach it won’t happen again. What do you think?”

  I continued watching her, loving how much she looked like my wife. Her little brow furrowed as she debated what I’d just said. “I guess,” she relented. “You spank Jackson?”

  “Do you really think he deserves a spanking?” I asked, quirking a brow right back at her.

  She nodded her head up and down.

  Like she even knows what a spanking is!

  “So, let me ask you this, Harper. How many times has Daddy given you a spanking?”

  She thought about that for a moment, and then a smile slowly spread across her face. “No,” she said, laughing.

  “Uh huh, that’s right. And why is that?”

  “Cause I angel?” she asked, looking up at me.

  I had to chuckle. She was no angel; trust me, but what the hell? She was my little princess and I would never touch her in anger. I left the discipline to Lindsey. And I knew that sounded pussy-like, but that little girl had me wrapped around her little finger. And besides that, I knew Lindsey was a big wuss, so all was good with my kids. Harper just had a little bit of a jealousy thing going on with her baby brother.

  It was perfectly norm
al.

  “Okay, how about you keep Harley up out of Jackson’s way at least until his molars come in?”

  “Huh?”

  “His teeth,” I explained, “The little guy is suffering with that. You did the same thing when you were his age, and guess what? We all survived it. So, will you help your little brother?”

  She shrugged, giving me her signature smile that totally disarmed me. “Yes, Daddy. Love you.”

  And now I had totally melted for my little girl. Just the same way that I had for her mother.

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “I know,” she kinda mumbled in that three year old way.

  Lindsey came into the bathroom at that moment and scooted Harper out, telling her to go and brush her teeth in the other bathroom.

  She presented her back to me, and raised her hair up. “Can you zip me up, Taz?”

  I pulled the zipper the rest of the way up, and brushed my lips against the back of her neck before she dropped her hair back down.

  “Where are you going today?” I asked, “You’re awfully dressed up this morning. Do I have to put you under surveillance, babe?”

  “Oh, Trace,” she laughed. “I told you. Mom and I have an appointment with a potential client this morning. It could mean a major remodeling contract for seven area daycare centers. We’re meeting with the owner of the Virginia franchises of Happy Haven Daycare Center.”

  I grabbed my shoulder holster and snapped it on. “Well, I’m sure you’re going to dazzle them with your talent. Who’s watching the rug rats?”

  “I’m dropping them at Darcy’s on my way to pick up Mom.”

  I leaned over to give her a quick kiss. “See you tonight, baby girl. Be careful out there.”

  “You be careful out there,” she called after me.

  Slate and I go way back. When I started with the Bureau twelve years ago, he was the senior agent and my supervisor. I’m not gonna lie, he’s like a ninja with his survival skills and defensive training.

  He was in Special Forces; did two tours, serving in Operation Enduring Freedom from 2001 to 2004 as a strategic advisor for special ops. And that wasn’t just Army Special Ops; that included green berets, black berets, rangers, seals, marine recon and delta force.

  Now, that didn’t mean he had some cushy detail, planning the routes, resources required and coordinates, because no way in hell would Slate send bodies into anything he wasn’t prepared to walk into himself. And that’s exactly what he had done.

  Don’t get me wrong, my tenure in the Army had been as a green beret, so I wasn’t half bad with survival training, and strategic missions, but not near to the extent Slate had been trained.

  Speaking of, he was already seated at the bar with half a bottle of beer in front of him when I got there. Slate was thirty-six and still as fit as when I had first met him, with his dark hair and ice-blue eyes. Chicks always said he had that rakish appeal.

  He worked out like a maniac; and hell—sometimes I thought he was a bona fide maniac, but that’s not my professional opinion, just an observation. He’s turned family man as well, and damn if he hadn’t left some disappointed honeys in his wake. He and Sammie had two sons, Bryce who’s almost six, and Sidney who’s four. He loves his little guys and it’s funny to watch him wrestle around with them until Sammie finally screeches for them to stop.

  I was looking forward to doing that with Jackson when he got a bit older but, right now, he was still a baby. If Lindsey had her way, he’d stay there longer than normal. My little guy was a bit of a cock-blocker at the moment; Lindsey made the mistake of letting him sleep with us several months back when he was fussing with an ear infection and, well, you know how that goes! He didn’t like his crib now.

  At all.

  I told Lindsey we needed to put a stop to it. Even threatened to cut her off sexually as an incentive but hell, talk about cutting your own nuts off to spite your dick!

  “Hey,” I said, slipping onto the bar stool next to Slate. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I told the bartender.

  “Still fucking late, aren’t you, Taz?”

  “Only by twenty minutes.”

  The bartender placed a cold bottle of Michelob in front of me. “Glass?” he asked.

  “Naw, this is fine.” I took a long swig. Damn, it hit the spot. “So, what’s up?”

  Slate peered around, checking out the patrons. He was always on guard, always alert to his surroundings. He even picked a rat hole of a bar for some reason, but that was just Slate.

  “I wanted to let you know I recruited you for a temporary assignment within my current operation.”

  I turned quickly to look at him. He had to be shitting me. Slate didn’t—no, I need to rephrase that: Slate shouldn’t have that kind of pull within the Bureau. Our statuses were practically equivalent.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Keep your voice down, Taz,” he warned quietly, his eyes shifting a bit.

  Shit. Slate paranoid? No fucking way.

  “You know what my current assignment has been for the last year, right?”

  “Well yeah, man. Hobnobbing with the CIA and NSA as part of the Joint Terrorism Task Force, right? I knew that,” I replied, taking another swig of beer. “But that’s about all I knew.”

  “Yeah, well it’s pretty classified shit for obvious reasons, and I’ve debated telling you this for awhile. You’ll understand why when I finally do but, shit, you need to keep your head Taz because it’s a sensitive issue and I can’t be connected with it whatsoever once it becomes active.”

  I nodded and, for a brief moment, my instincts told me to get up and walk out of the bar. To not listen to whatever information Slate was about to give me because it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear.

  And it wasn’t.

  But fuck if it wasn’t something I needed to know.

  “About ten months ago, Susan Reynard was given a full pardon by the Department of Justice.”

  “What the fuck?” I snarled, my blood already starting to boil. Susan Reynard was the sociopathic bitch, who along with her stepson, Kyzer Stanfield, had been involved in a scheme to manufacture amphetamines by importing illegal Khat plants from several third world countries. The whole grandiose project had been in the making between Susan and Lindsey’s now dead father, Jack Dennison, who had been the CEO of Banion Pharmaceuticals in Indianapolis at the time.

  Ultimately, the FBI had shut the operation down, but not before Lindsey had been abducted by Kyzer, and taken to a deserted factory. She’d been tortured and I couldn’t even think about that shit without wanting to have the bastard and his stepmom right in front of me so that I could return the favor on each of them ten-fold.

  This had all gone down a couple of years back, but Slate knew it was still a hot-button for me…and it always would be.

  “Keep calm,” he said, “Let me explain.”

  “It better be fuckin’ good,” I growled. “Why in the fuck would you hold this from me for the better part of a year, huh? Why didn’t I know? Does everyone else in the fucking Bureau know this shit or what?”

  “Fuck, Taz—it’s not public knowledge. You know how this shit works under normal circumstances, right?”

  He didn’t wait for a response.

  “Well, take that and multiply it by a million. We’re fucking dealing with terrorist threats on an almost daily basis, so what the fuck? Intel or any other piece of information we can get and check for accuracy, we fucking do! It just so happened that the intelligence Susan provided panned out. The only thing that concerns me is that I’m betting she kept the best to herself.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean, what she gave the Feds was probably just the tip of the iceberg. I’m betting there’s more. Much more.”

  “I’m listening,” was all I could say. And this had better be good was all I could fucking think.

  “First off, Susan’s deal came through her attorney contacting the DOJ. The Bureau wasn’t involved at all. It was CIA associates that verified the accuracy, and the DOJ granted her release as a result. Her information nailed a cartel of arms smugglers out of Mexico, with links to terrorist cells located in Pakistan and Yemen. That’s something, isn’t it?”

  “Go on,” I replied.

  “So, the deal was done. It was over. There was no need for me to put the bitch under surveillance. She was, as they say, a citizen with a clean, fucking slate.”