Renegade

  DANGEROUS MASQUERADE

  “What are we doing, Gabriel?”

  He smiled, his dimples winking at her. “I believe it’s called kissing.”

  Summer placed a hand over his mouth. “We shouldn’t do it again.”

  Gabriel caught her wrist and kissed her fingers. “And why not?”

  “Because it’s not going to work.”

  “Because you say it?”

  “It’s because we have to work together,” she argued softly.

  Summer gave him a long, penetrating look. She wanted so much to be Summer and not Renegade, but found it impossible to distinguish between the two identities.

  “I can’t afford to get involved with you. We are worlds apart, and there is no way you can fit into mine, or I in yours.”

  He caressed her cheek. “I can’t change who I am anymore than you can change who you are. And I happen to like who you are.”

  She closed her eyes. “You don’t know me.”

  “Then don’t shut me out, Summer. Allow me to get to know you.”

  He didn’t know what he was saying. No one knew Summer Montgomery. Not even her mother and father.

  Renegade

  Rochelle Alers

  © 2003 by Rochelle Alers

  All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Kimani Press, Editorial Office, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  To Mildred E. Riley—for a friendship that has spanned decades and for the wonderful memories of Cape Cod.

  Thy hands have made and prepared me; give me understanding, that I may learn Thy commandments.

  Psalm 119:73

  THE HIDEAWAY LEGACY

  HIDEAWAY

  Martin Cole–Parris Simmons

  Regina

  Tyler

  Arianna

  HIDDEN AGENDA

  Alejandro Delgado–Eve Blackwell–Matthew Sterling

  Christopher Delgado

  Sara Sterling

  VOWS

  Joshua Kirkland–Vanessa Blanchard

  Emily

  Michael

  HEAVENSENT

  David Cole–Serena Morris

  Gabriel

  Alexandra

  Ana and Jason

  HARVEST MOON

  Oscar Spencer–Regina Cole–Aaron Spencer

  Clayborne

  Eden

  JUST BEFORE DAWN

  Salem Lassiter–Sara Sterling

  Isaiah

  Eve and Nona

  PRIVATE PASSIONS

  Christopher Delgado–Emily Kirkland

  Alejandro II

  Esperanza

  Mateo

  NO COMPROMISE

  Michael Kirkland–Jolene Walker

  Teresa

  Joshua

  HOMECOMING

  Tyler Cole–Dana Nichols

  Martin II

  Astra

  RENEGADE

  Gabriel Cole–Summer Montgomery

  Emmanuel

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Summer Montgomery—alias Denise Hartley—willed herself to remain calm despite the shiver snaking its way up her spine.

  The all-too-familiar banked sensation reminded her that thirteen months of undercover work would end in less than sixty seconds.

  The tingling was a silent alarm, signaling anticipation for what would come through the doors at the airplane hangar at a private airstrip in Houston, Texas.

  She was ready—as ready as she would ever be; she’d been undercover for so many years that there were times when she’d found it difficult to distinguish her aliases from her true identity.

  A slight smile parted her curvy lips as she glanced casually at the man who had boasted, with her assistance, that he had become the financial genius for the largest drug cartel in the U.S. southwest. The arrogant man returned her smile, unaware that the sweep second hand on the timepiece strapped to his left wrist counted down the final seconds of his life as a prominent businessman.

  “Denise, are you certain you don’t want to come with me?” Richard Robertson asked. He’d raised his normally soft voice to be heard over the roar of planes taking off and landing. His private jet was fueling in readiness for a flight to the Amazon jungle where he’d planned a two-month sojourn at his Brazilian plantation.

  Summer placed her hands, palms down, on the top of a table. Her eyelids lowered slightly, concealing a pair of large, deep-set, dark-brown eyes.

  “I’m quite certain, Richard. I told you before I’m business, and what you’re proposing is personal.”

  A sensual smile softened his strong features. At forty-three years of age, the Texas bank president was in his prime and totally unaware that if convicted he would spend the rest of his life in a federal prison for laundering money for drug traffickers.

  He stared at the woman who had been responsible for helping him expand his network from Texas and New Mexico to Nevada, Arizona and into portions of Southern California. She was smart and stunningly beautiful—attributes he hadn’t encountered in any woman in all of his business ventures. Most were merely window-dressing, but not so with Denise. She had come to him highly recommended. What had surprised him when he’d had her checked out by a reliable source was the fact that she did not exist. There was no record of a birth certificate, driver’s license, or fingerprints. He took this as a sign that Denise Hartley had the protection of someone who had made her virtually invisible.

  Richard’s navy-blue gaze lingered on her shoulder-length, dark-brown hair secured in a loose ponytail before moving lower to the delicate curve of a pair of high cheekbones. At five-foot eight inches with a slender, tight body Denise looked more like an aerobics instructor than a drug trafficker. He knew she jogged every morning despite the weather, and lifted weights.

  He’d witnessed her physical prowess when she’d rendered a man unconscious with a single kick to the side of his head moments after he’d made a grievous error in judgment by groping her breasts. The memory of her well-aimed foot had been etched in his brain once he recalled her declaration that there was never a need for her to carry a firearm, because she was a weapon—a dangerous, lethal weapon.

  “What can I offer you to change your mind?”

  Summer’s expression changed, becoming impassive. “Nothing.”

  Reaching across the space, Richard covered one of her hands with his, the contrast of his pale hand on her brown fingers startling. “Can I at least bring something back for you?”

  Summer smiled again. The gesture was erotic enough to cause Richard’s breath to catch in his throat. Pausing for several seconds, she finally said, “An emer
ald.”

  “Bracelet, earrings or ring?”

  Biting down on her lower lip, she fluttered her lashes. “Surprise me.”

  The two words were barely off her tongue when the doors to the hangar opened and an authoritative male voice shouted, “Don’t move! DEA!”

  Summer’s head jerked around simultaneously with Richard’s. She came to her feet in a motion too quick for the eye to follow as two other men lounging in the hangar reached under their jackets for concealed weapons. A dozen agents rushed in, badges dangling from chains around their necks, each wearing blue jackets bearing the white letters of DEA on the back while brandishing semi-automatic weapons.

  “Don’t be stupid, gentlemen,” the man with the deep voice warned.

  Summer chanced a quick glance at Richard who looked as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. The blood had drained from his face, leaving it as pale as candlewax. His expression clearly read: Don’t you know who I am?

  The senior agent in charge of the raid moved closer, his eyes narrowing. A feral grin curled his thin lips. “What do we have here?” he asked, his gaze fixed on Summer. His men handcuffed Richard Robertson and his bodyguards. Drawing back his arm he slapped Summer, splitting her lip, bloodying her nose and snapping her head back.

  “I knew I would catch up with you one of these days,” he snarled between clenched teeth.

  He attempted to hit her again, but Summer blocked the next punch when her left arm came up. He was standing, then seconds later found himself sprawled on his back after she’d kicked him behind his knees. The right toe of her black leather boot made contact with his eye before blinding pain radiated behind her head, causing the concrete floor to come up to meet her.

  There were the sounds of exploding bullets, followed by the empty casings hitting the floor next to her shoulder and the acrid smell of cordite. Darkness descended slowly and mercifully, swallowing Summer Montgomery whole.

  Summer woke up hours later, not knowing where she was or the time of day. She knew she’d been heavily sedated, but the painkiller was not enough to erase the dull throbbing at the base of her skull. A face and the whisper of moist breath swept over her, and it was a full minute before she recognized him.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled sharply. “One of these days I’m going to hurt you real bad, Lucas.” The words were squeezed out between clenched teeth.

  “You did when you kicked me in the head.”

  “That’s because you hit me in the face.” Her words were slurring together.

  “I had to make it look good, Renegade.”

  She opened her eyes and glared at her boss. His left eye, a hideous shade of deep purple, was nearly swollen shut. Steri-strips covered half a dozen sutures over the eyebrow. “And you did.”

  Lucas Shelby stared at the swollen flesh masking what should’ve been a delicate jaw. He knew he’d hit Summer hard, but not hard enough to break her jaw. There were abrasions on her chin and forehead from her fall.

  “You must have made quite an impression with Robertson, because when we told him you’d been killed resisting arrest he just about lost it.”

  Turning her head slowly, Summer averted Lucas’s intense stare. She would never tell him that Richard Robertson had confessed to being in love with her. She’d done nothing to encourage his attention, but her indifference still did not discourage the married banker from attempting to come on to her.

  “Where do I go next?”

  Lucas shook his head, unable to believe the battered and bruised woman in the hospital bed. It would be weeks, perhaps even more than a month, before she would be medically cleared to return to duty. However, each time she accepted another undercover assignment it was as if she was playing a game wherein she challenged death.

  “The Director says it’s time for us to work the east coast.”

  “Us?” she asked, not looking at him.

  Lucas smiled, attractive lines fanning out around his blue-green eyes. “We’re being transferred to the Boston area. There’s evidence of high volume drug sales at one of the suburban high schools. This time you’ll go in as a teacher.” He patted her shoulder. “Feel better. I’ll be back tomorrow to fill you in.”

  Summer lay motionless, staring up at the ceiling. In three months she would celebrate her thirty-third birthday, and she’d spent the past five of those thirty-two years as an undercover DEA agent.

  As Summer Montgomery—code name: Renegade—she’d become an integral component with a team of highly trained agents responsible for the interdiction of drug trafficking. And since becoming an agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration, she had gone undercover for two years as a member of a California youth gang with ties to other gangs in Washington and Oregon, gathering evidence of their drug dealing. Her youthful-looking appearance had also served her well once she’d enrolled as a high school student in Denver, Colorado.

  Infiltrating Richard Robertson’s network had become a welcome respite from interacting with adolescents, but that was going to change again with her next assignment.

  She shifted her head, grimacing as pain radiated down her neck. Lucas had to hit her to make her capture look convincing, but whoever had hit her from behind had nearly fractured her skull. Closing her eyes, she made a solemn vow that no one on her team would ever catch her off guard again.

  One

  A slight frown furrowed Summer Montgomery’s forehead as she made her way across the parking lot at Weir Memorial High School. She wasn’t upset by the escalating shrieks of students greeting one another after a summer recess. What did annoy her was the crowd of media personnel positioned behind wooden barricades on the sidewalk across the street from the school. Video cameras on tripods were focused to capture the images of everyone entering or leaving the building. The press had been warned by the mayor and school officials not to trespass on school property nor to interfere with students returning for the first day of classes.

  The media and police presence at Weir was because of Gabriel Cole. Having the multi award-winning musician join her and another artist-in-residence as faculty did not upset Summer, but who the musician was was certain to become a source of frustration. She’d come to Weir, a school along Boston’s south shore community, to expose a drug ring, but Gabriel’s tenure was certain to thrust the high school into the media spotlight, and thereby possibly jeopardizing her true identity.

  It was to become the first time in her career with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration that she would use her real name in an undercover operation. And because she’d earned an undergraduate degree in fine arts with a concentration in theater she did not have to rehearse for her latest role. She was now Weir’s new drama teacher.

  “Good morning, Miss Montgomery. Welcome to Weir Memorial’s first day of classes.”

  Her frown faded as she returned the inviting smile of the dark-skinned, shaved head man who had chaired the faculty orientation the week before. “Good morning, Mr. Gellis.”

  His eyes sparkled like polished onyx. “You may call me Dumas when we’re not around students.”

  Summer gave him a sidelong glance as he reached over her head and opened the door to the faculty entrance. The distinctive odor of cigarette smoke clung to his skin and clothes. “Wasn’t it you who insisted all teachers call one another by their surnames?”

  “There are exceptions, Summer.”

  “And those are?”

  He winked at her. “When there are no students present.”

  She nodded. “Okay, Dumas.” Summer did not want to believe he was flirting with her when his only concern should have been identifying the person or persons responsible for dealing drugs at his school. Two students had died of an overdose over the past two years, and another was comatose and on life support after ingesting more than a dozen Vicodin pills. Rumors were that the students had purchased the drugs from someone in the school, although no one would come forward to name the dealer.

  She had been briefed at the field office o
n everyone who worked or taught at Weir, and Summer knew forty-six-year-old assistant principal Dumas Gellis had played semi-pro football, was the divorced father of two adolescent sons, and had joined the faculty eight years ago. He had taught chemistry and physics for six years until he was promoted to assistant principal.

  “I’ll see you around,” she said in parting as she made her way down the highly polished tiled hallway to the office she was to share with two other instructors.

  Dumas Gellis stared at Summer’s retreating figure, admiring her lithe body in a slim skirt, mock turtle-neck sweater and waist-length leather jacket. A pair of sheer stockings and low-heeled suede pumps completed her all-black attire.

  Gabriel Cole strolled across the parking lot dressed in the school uniform: navy blue blazer with the school’s emblem on the breast pocket, a pair of charcoal gray slacks, white button-down shirt and a maroon and white striped tie. A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes and his long hair was concealed under a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. Dressed as he was made it difficult for anyone to distinguish him from the returning male students.

  The principal had called Gabriel the day before to inform him that the media had planned to camp out at the school to await his arrival. And it wasn’t the first time the ultraconservative school administrator had expressed her concern that his presence at Weir would disrupt the school’s well ordered day-to-day existence. Gabriel had reassured her that his commitment to participate in a federally sponsored cultural arts grants program would in no way compromise Weir’s academic excellence.

  Adjusting the calfskin backpack slung over his left shoulder, he pushed open the door leading to the faculty entrance, sighing in relief when the door closed behind him. A smile deepened the dimples in his suntanned cheeks.

  He had made it into the school undetected!

  His shoes made soft swishing sounds on the highly polished tile floor as he walked to the office he had been assigned to, along with two other instructors hired under the grant. Opening the door, he walked in. His eyes widened behind the lenses of his sunglasses as he stared at the woman standing with her back to the window.