Invisibility Cloak Read online

  Table of Contents

  INVISIBILITY CLOAK

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Epilogue

  INVISIBILITY CLOAK

  JILL ELAINE PRIM

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  INVISIBILITY CLOAK

  Copyright©2015

  JILL ELAINE PRIM

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-61935-915-4

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  As always . . .

  To my wonderful husband, Chris, and my children:

  Harrison, Jessica, and Alexa.

  I love you.

  Thank you for making my life complete.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost . . . my thanks to Debby Gilbert at Soul Mate Publishing.

  And to my editor, Cheryl Yeko.

  Dear Readers,

  Yes, there really is an invisibility cloak! For my book, I’ve researched the experiments, but manipulated the actual components for the story line. There is nothing cooler than science. In my early years my interest was stoked and lit―more often than not―by my teachers.

  Mr. Seagreen in elementary school. Mr. Mason in junior high and many more sandwiched in between. Dr. Winton, my Calculus professor at TSU in, Stephenville, Texas, fostered my love of math. He was one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. I didn’t think I could do it, but he believed in me. So thank you, Dr. Winton, I know you’ve encouraged many more math students after me.

  And a special thank you to the ultimate teachers, my parents. Thanks Mom, as always, love ya. And to my father, Donald Williams, thanks for not turning the channel when I tried to and we would watch Wild, Wild Kingdom together. I love you, Pops!

  Prologue

  *e-mail sent from the Institute of Physics*

  To: General Holmes / Strategic Command” March 2 at 10:14 pm.

  Nevada Office

  Re: Invisibility Cloak

  We did it! Come to the lab for a demo. We’re celebrating.

  W. H.

  Senior Physicist

  The Institute of Physics

  Harbor Falls Facility, Arizona

  The next day . . .

  All she wanted was to pick up her weekly fix of coke. Since no one informed her that Dr. Wayne Harris was being roughed up at the warehouse, she literally stumbled upon this scene. Peering through the thin slice of the doorjamb, her gaze followed the lone light bulb dangling listlessly from a tattered wire. That sole source of light highlighted the gaunt scientist’s face.

  He looked as hollow as the shadows cast haphazardly against the peeling, stained walls behind him. Harris’ picture was plastered in papers and journals everywhere due to his unique scientific patents and discoveries. And in every single picture he’d worn that ‘I’m better than all of you’ haughty expression on his face; until this moment.

  Are you still better now, Dr. Harris?

  The renowned physicist slouched on a chipped, metallic chair in the middle of a filthy room. Arms hanging loosely beside his drooping body, while his jaw sagged against his chest. His face reflected defeat.

  But it was all his own fault.

  All because he’d made a deal with Alejandro; a deal that would get him shot. Would arrogant Americans never learn? You never cross Alejandro. Greed never paid, it would only get you killed. Shaking her head, she looked around the small room. She really needed to get out of here and didn’t want any trouble―or to be seen, for that matter. All she’d wanted was her weekly allotment of Blow. Well, okay, maybe she’d snort through this tiny bag in two; three days tops.

  She gritted her teeth. Knowing she couldn’t go anywhere, she might as well watch the show.

  Who knows, maybe I can use this against Alejandro one day.

  His goons rained punches onto the brilliant scientist’s torso. She winced, knowing what it was like to be on the receiving end of Alejandro’s wrath.

  Bastard. She never wanted to be in that place again. The one time she thought to look beyond Alejandro for her cocaine habit, he’d found out and whipped her. Oh yes, he was ruthless.

  Loud music sliced through the room causing her to jump. A popular Spanish ballad blasted from one of the enforcer’s pants pocket. Refocusing, she blew out a relieved breath when she’d realized it was his cell phone. The swinging music tempo was the polar opposite of the atmosphere in the hostile room. Dr. Harris’ face tilted up and he narrowed his eyes at Alejandro’s thugs. The arrogance was back; the bubbly tune posed a false hope of Harris leaving this place unharmed.

  The hard-faced hombre scowled, then he flamboyantly widened his dark eyes and said, “Es que Ricky Montaro me oirá?” He laughed and turned to look left then look right with a flare of drama.

  She puffed out a silent chuckle at the comedic interlude of the scary Mexican before her eyes darted back to the physicist. Relaxing a little more in the metal folding chair, Harris’ mouth tilted up slightly. The beefy Mexican’s gaze met his as he’d dug out his cell phone and flipped it open.

  “Sí, Jefe?” After listening intently, he nodded and said, “Tendremos que hablar pronto.” Grinning, he showed off his brown stained teeth, and stuck his phone back into his jeans.

  Harris pushed up the spectacles sliding down his nose and sat up straighter. Jabbing his hand through his blond hair so that it stuck up on his skull, he looked around wildly. Apparently not recognizing the danger, his arrogant gaze swept over the filth of the empty warehouse. With his right arm wrapped around his side, cradling his rib, he raised his pointed chin and said, “Is there a reason for this? What do you want?”

  No, he does not know how close he is to death.

 
“Give us the algorithm, Professor Harris,” the second man demanded, heavily accented. “You promised delivery last week. Dios ¡Maldita sea! We have been patient long enough.”

  “I need more time.” A drop of sweat slid down Wayne Harris’ temple.

  So now he knows he is in trouble.

  “One more week,” the scientist pleaded. He took a few deep, panicky breaths. But then he opened his mouth, again. “I already spoke to Alejandro Castillo about the delay.”

  The swaying lightbulb cast sporadic shadows that hid the two enforcer’s expressions, but she heard their soft menacing chuckles.

  “Ah, but Senor, that was two weeks ago.”

  “One more week,” he gritted out. “You won’t touch me. I have plenty of insurance.” After adjusting his legs, his face morphed into that of a little child’s and he threw his fists in the air, yelling at no one in particular. “Why did I ever get involved in this? I’m getting out now, damn it! I’m going to straighten my mess of a life out.” Sucking in a deep breath, he continued his rant. “Why in the hell did I ever leave Amanda and my two children?”

  Jumping up, he declared, “Leave me alone, damn you!” He shoved his seat behind him with his foot and fisted his hands at his sides. “I’m done here.”

  Hmm, she shook her head. Dr. Harris may very well be done.

  “Lo que están hablando de pendejo.” Although only the shorter one spoke, both men’s faces hardened. “What do you mean, Gringo?”

  Stupid male. He’s on the brink of death, yet his ego still took over. Had he learned nothing with all of his degrees? He was the one standing on a high wire without a net.

  “Names, places, dates.” The sweat slowly dripping off his chin glistened in the light. “Sent to a classified location. If anything happens to me . . .” He nodded. “Well, let’s just say . . . It’s my insurance.”

  Imbecile. He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

  A quick look of panic flashed across Alejandro’s men, then anger took over as the larger man smacked the scientist’s face.

  “Tell us.”

  Dr. Harris just glared at him and rubbed his cheek. “Back off.” He worked his jaw from side to side. “Unless you all want to end up in prison.”

  Stupid American.

  The second thug sneered and stepped closer to Dr. Harris, slapping him in the face. “Is that so?” He smacked him again. Harris’ wire rims flew off his face.

  Her heart rate picked up as she watched. The beefy hand flew to his cheek again, then another punch in his ribs.

  Dr. Harris’ head wobbled side to side, until a fist landed solidly on his nose. That punch stopped his head from bobbing.

  “Do not threaten us,” the first man spit out. “Doctor Wayne Harrreeeeezzze.”

  A fist slammed into his pale face again.

  “Stop. Wait.” Wayne Harris coughed, loudly sucking in breaths. Wheezing, he threw his hands up. “Call Alejandro!”

  “We already did, Gringo.” The Mexican stood in front of the doctor with his hands fisted on his hips. “You know what he said?”

  Her eyes widened and her heart thudded painfully.

  “What?”

  “This!” The second thug yelled as a smear of silver moved to the scientist’s head. Dr. Harris’ head was lobbed off cleanly with the machete and tumbled on the cement floor a few feet away, right next to his broken glasses.

  Chapter 1

  Two Months Later . . .

  Ryder Stevenson ran his hand through his short black hair as he ambled over to his office window, for what . . . the tenth time? He hadn’t seen the slight figure walking slowly to the gym today. It was Friday, right? Flipping his wrist over, he checked the date on his watch. Yep it was a Friday, so where was she?

  For the past eight weeks―every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday―he’d watched her go to the gym. He swore under his breath. What was he doing? Obsessing over a lady? Damn it, a woman had never made him feel like this. Ever!

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Especially a woman he’d only seen, but never met. Keeping his cool in all situations had been drilled into him in the Army, long ago. His Special Ops training taught him to maintain a calm, cool façade in any situation. And he normally did . . .

  . . . Except two months ago, back in March, all his training had flown out the window during a phone call from Sophia Edgington when he’d glanced outside. An elderly man, who he’d assumed was her father, was pushing her down the sidewalk in a wheelchair. The wind blew so fiercely that he’d held his breath. Worried the old guy would stumble onto his side. But they’d methodically navigated to the gym; every day at first. She’d started out in a wheelchair and then graduated to a four-pronged metallic cane. That was when the visits scaled down to three times a week.

  So what happened to her today? These past two months, he’d felt like her invisible protector as she slowly made her way to the gym. That was probably why he was worried now. Her head always down, shoulder length blond hair blowing over her face, she’d looked so alone. Maybe that was what tore at his gut.

  He flashed back to the school benefit he’d attended with Edgington weeks ago and stifled back a laugh. Holy shit, the woman just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Edgington was a big client of his, and sounded scared to go anywhere by herself. His gut had churned at the thought of her ex-husband hurting her. But it wasn’t just her; any woman or child being purposefully hurt struck him to the core.

  So, he’d gone with the divorcee to her kid’s school function―in work mode. All of his senses had been on high alert when he’d picked her up, attending the private school’s fundraiser. He’d soon realized Sophia Edgington wasn’t as scared as she’d professed to be. When her fingers stroked the inside of his right thigh, he knew she was playing him, had actually come on to him.

  She was a looker too, but he wasn’t interested. He never mixed business with pleasure. So after he’d politely extracted her well-manicured hand off his privates, he’d driven her home, graciously turning down her offer to come inside for a drink. Sure, he’d had to suffer through her sulking—and she was good. One of the best pouters he’d ever seen, sticking out her plump bottom lip to her full advantage.

  But he knew her type. Women like Edgington had stopped stirring him a while ago. They had cold calculation in every pose as well as the words that came out of their red lip-glossed mouths. He’d had his fun with women like that before, but he was looking for something else now.

  Shit, I must be getting old!

  He groaned as he looked starkly at the large gym windows staring at him across the way. Thirty-nine-years old and turning into an old codger. Was he really ready to settle down, get married, and have a few kids? Swiveling his desk chair, he looked at the gym doors. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he wasn’t doing women like Sophia Edgington anymore. Hell, he hadn’t felt any sparks, not even a slight rise when her hand landed on his leg.

  His eyes dipped again out the window.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. His intercom vibrated, jolting him out of his thoughts and he pressed the button on his phone. “Yes, Marge?”

  “Mr. Stevenson, Mrs. Edgington is on line two.”

  “Thanks.” His secretary, Marge was unbelievably efficient. Ryder had no doubt she was furiously typing up a proposal, filing away the stacks of contracts he’d put on her desk this morning, while grabbing the phone lines with her other hand.

  Jaw set, he readied himself for another outlandish request from Edgington and pressed on the phone speaker. “Hello, Mrs. Edgington, what can I help you with today?” He clasped his hands behind his back as he paced in front of the window.

  “Ryder,” Sophia Edgington purred into the phone. “I’m having an intimate get together this Saturday. Very small.” She paused. “To celebrate my emancipation from Parker. Please say you’ll come.”<
br />
  “Mrs. Edgington, I―” Ryder began, ready to make up an excuse not to go. He’d find something to use to get out of it.

  Sophia cut in, “Oh, Ryder, please. I need you here. I’m worried about security issues.”

  He had to give it to her―she knew what to say to get him there. “What time?”

  “I’m serving drinks at seven and dinner at eight.”

  “I’ll be there,” Ryder gritted out. “It will be a good time to check the security of my system we put in.” Yeah, right.

  “Great,” she breathed into the phone. “Just having you there will make me feel safer.”

  “See you tomorrow,” he grunted, unable to hide his displeasure at having to socialize with her, again. The woman just didn’t get it. He poked the speaker button with a vengeance, ending the connection. She obviously hadn’t gotten the message that he wasn’t interested. Sure, he wanted her as a client, but he was getting damn tired of having to fend her off. At least there would be other people there, and he could avoid her by monitoring the system. A wave of uneasiness whacked him in the gut. Something doesn’t add up.

  Sophia, the newly divorced mother of two came to him asking for better security in her home in Holmby Hills. She already lived in a gated community with a security unit in place. For some unknown reason, she wanted the currently installed system gone and Ryder’s suggestions and equipment in. Well, she could need it for her drug habit.

  Someone needed to guard the cocaine.