Finding Truth

  Finding Truth

  The Searchers, Book 3

  Ripley Proserpina

  After Glows Publishing

  Finding Truth

  © Copyright 2017 Ripley Proserpina

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  Published by After Glows

  PO Box 224

  Middleburg, FL 32050

  AfterGlowsPublishing.com

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  Cover by Bound 2 Be Book Covers

  Formatting by AG Formatting

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  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. 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 any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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  AfterGlowsPublishing.com

  Contents

  1. Matisse

  2. Matisse

  3. Nora

  4. Nora

  5. Nora

  6. Matisse

  7. Seok

  8. Matisse

  9. Nora

  10. Matisse

  11. Nora

  12. Matisse

  13. Matisse

  14. Matisse

  15. Matisse

  16. Matisse

  17. Matisse

  18. Matisse

  19. Matisse

  20. Matisse

  21. Matisse

  22. Matisse

  23. Matisse

  24. Nora

  25. Matisse

  26. Nora

  27. Matisse

  28. Nora

  29. Nora

  30. Matisse

  31. Matisse

  32. Nora

  33. Matisse

  34. Nora

  35. Matisse

  36. Nora

  37. Matisse

  38. Nora

  About the Author

  Books by Ripley:

  Note From the Publisher

  1

  Matisse

  Matisse Boudreau revved his engine, the bike jerking beneath him. It was like sitting on an angry beast, one whose claws were already digging into the pavement and straining to be released. Viewed through the visor of his helmet, everything took on a slightly surreal appearance.

  At his side was his friend, Angelique. It hadn’t been hard to get her out in this weather. She’d been complaining about the cold since it set in. November thaws weren’t unheard of, but in the five years Matisse lived in Vermont, he’d never experienced one. But today, miracle of miracles, it was positively balmy with temperatures in the fifties. It gave him an excuse to get out, a last hurrah of racing along the streets before they were covered in slush and muck.

  In front of them stood Angelique’s girlfriend, who held up a scarf like it was some scene out of a 1950s movie. They let her because it made her happy, and by extension, it made Angelique happy. None of the racers were so full of themselves they couldn’t laugh at the picture they made.

  Tonight though, no one was laughing. With what was likely to be the last street race of the year, people had come from all over Vermont, and some from Quebec. The stakes were high, and if Matisse won this race, his money problems would be solved.

  His mind drifted to Nora, who would be sound asleep with no idea what he was getting up to. A stab of guilt hit him, but he pushed it away, forgetting it completely when the scarf dropped.

  Releasing the brake, he roared into the night. Right away, he took the lead. Angelique said he had no fear, and maybe he didn’t. He knew his brain didn’t work the same way as everyone else’s. Black and white. If he stuck to his plan, he’d win. If he didn’t, he’d lose. It was that simple.

  The race took them straight through Brownington’s older residential areas to a place where they could really let the throttle out.

  The dim headlights of a racer surged next to him. From the corner of his eye, Matisse saw them give the bike gas, and he shook his head. Whoever it was didn’t know the course, and they hadn’t taken the time to see what they were in for. Ahead was a speed bump, and like he expected, the racer braked hard, tail lights lifting into the air. The bike landed on its side before skidding into a parked car.

  Merde. That was going to get the cops’ attention if nothing else. Their only hope was to zip through the neighborhood fast enough that by the time the cops arrived, the race was over.

  Matisse slowed over one more speed bump then let loose. Downshifting to gain speed, he raced through the night. The cold air whipped up and under his helmet, stinging his skin and making his eyes water. As he blinked the tears away, the stoplight ahead change from red to green.

  This was the best part of the race. The Belt Line. A two-lane highway cut through the town, connecting the more suburban New North End with the rest of Brownington. The road curved gradually, but with no houses and no side streets, this was where the racing was truly done. At the end of the Belt Line was a stoplight, and the first racer there won.

  No one was in front of him. His engine screamed—the best sound in the world. Matisse was awash in sensation. His stomach clenched with excitement, and his blood hummed with adrenaline. There were no distractions. Nothing pulled his attention away from what he needed to do.

  Leaning, Matisse eased into a turn and downshifted to gain momentum as soon as the road straightened again. A flash of red and white streaked by him, and he narrowed his eyes.

  Angelique knew this curve as well as him. What did she think she was doing? A sudden flash of brake lights told him she’d forgotten where they were on the course, and he had to stifle the urge to wave as he tore past her.

  Ahead of him was the stoplight, but what he expected to see and what he saw were different. Flashing white and blue lights warned him of the cops blocking the road. Fuck.

  Edging the bike toward the breakdown lane, Matisse shut off his lights and rolled to a stop. The other racers flew past him, and like the Christmas lights downtown, there was a sudden twinkling of red. Quickly, Matisse turned his bike around to the first exit off the road. He was careful not to tap the brakes and stayed on the far side of the road, away from the streetlights and anything that might give him away.

  This wasn’t a loss. He had a contingency plan for things like this. Off the exit a short ways was the Ethan Allen Memorial. All he had to do was drive into the wooded parking area, push his bike behind some trees, and start the long walk home.

  Watching his surroundings carefully, he parked and got off his bike. He’d look suspicious if he walked with his helmet; it’d have to stay with the bike.

  Carefully, he rolled the bike down a small embankment, rested it on its side, and placed his helmet next to it. When he climbed back up and studied the woods, it wasn’t visible. Tomorrow, he’d have to rent a truck to get it back home, or if the weather held, maybe he could risk bringing it back.

  As he stood in the darkness, Matisse tipped his head to the sky. If only Vermont could stay like this year round—chilly but not frigid, and quiet. A sudden burst of police siren had him jumping, and he put his hand over his racing heart.

  His adrenaline left him jittery and anxious with a need to do something. From the parking lot, a winding path led
to the lookout, a tower built in honor of the Revolutionary War soldier who was ballsy enough to kick in the door at a British stronghold in the middle of the night.

  Built of red stone and resembling a medieval fort, the tower rose more than forty feet in the air and boasted a steel gate with a heavy lock to keep people like Matisse out in the off-season.

  Actually. Not people like him, so much. Removing a multipurpose tool from his pocket, he fiddled with the lock until it released and the gate groaned open.

  Inside the tower, it was much colder. Matisse climbed the grated steps; his footfalls echoed through the tower until he emerged onto the deck and into the night. The lights of Brownington were on full display and turned the night purple. To the west, across the lake, were the far-off lights of New York State and to the north, the quiet, rural countryside.

  After filling his lungs with air again, he held his breath then slowly let it out in a hiss through clenched teeth. The beauty of this night made his chest ache. Nora would love it up here. Tomorrow he’d bring her. They’d visit Cai in the hospital then come back here. Even if it turned into winter again, they’d come up. He imagined the way the world would look covered in snow. The sounds of the city would be muffled.

  Leaning his elbows on the wall, he closed his eyes. The wind hit him full force, and his nose ran. Somewhere below, a bunch of his buddies were either being arrested or issued tickets. Either way, there would be no racing for a long time to come. Their street bikes would be impounded, probably auctioned off. Some of them, like Angelique, were savvy enough to find a way out of trouble. He was sure a bunch of people had ditched their bikes off the sides of the road into the cattails and muck lining the Belt Line.

  Unlike Matisse, they wouldn’t balk at losing their bikes as long as they walked away from the race without a record.

  He stood there for a long time, feet freezing in his boots, jacket barely keeping out the chilling air. When the first rays of the sun rising over the lake struck him, he thundered down the steps and back along the path to make sure the bike wasn’t visible in the daylight.

  By the time he made it to his street, the sun was up. It would be warm today, but probably not for long. When the wind blew, it was cold, chilling the sweat on his neck.

  As the house came into sight, he found himself hurrying. He wanted to get there before Nora awoke. The memory of her, the way she slept curled like a caterpillar, had him jogging the final block and unlocking the door with anxious fingers. In the entryway, he paused and listened to hear if she was awake, but the house was silent. Everyone slept. Taking the stairs two at a time, he rushed down the hall and threw open her door only to find her bed made. There was no sign of her—nothing to show she’d spent the night here.

  Which meant she was with one of his friends. Ryan, or Apollo, or maybe Seok. He could look for her. None of them, save Apollo, would be upset with him for checking in on her. If she was with Ryan or Seok, he may even be able to snuggle into bed and be the big spoon, or the little spoon, depending on which way Nora was facing.

  Something stopped him though. One of the things he was coming to learn in his relationship with Nora was that individual time was special. If she was with one of the other guys, it was important they have some privacy. So no matter how much he wanted to hold her, the person she was with would want it just as much. Yes, Ryan and Seok would be fine with his intrusion, but it wasn’t fair to them. In the future, if Matisse wanted Nora-time, he needed to be there when they went to bed. Besides, letting Nora have one-to-one time with someone now meant he’d get it later. Tit for tat, or whatever.

  The rug muffled his feet, but when he sat on her bed, the mattress springs gave a loud squeak. He bounced once, and it squeaked before he let himself fall backward. Grasping her pillow, he pulled it under his head and wrinkled his nose. It smelled like Apollo. They really needed to take her shopping for her own soap.

  Still, he relaxed. He closed his eyes and imagined her skin beneath his. In a few hours, he’d wake up, and she’d be here. He’d take her into his arms, and everything inside him would calm and center. Never in his life had merely the thought of a person been enough to anchor him and pull all the parts of him together. Lying there, with Nora’s scent in his nose and her face in his mind, his breathing evened out and he fell asleep.

  2

  Matisse

  The bed bounced.

  Nora tickled his ear, her lips skimming the shell. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  Without opening his eyes, he flipped over and grasped the back of Nora’s neck to keep her still. His lips touched hers, and he groaned. Mint and coffee. Perfect.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  She smiled down at him while she traced the length of his nose with her finger and kissed him once more before rolling off the bed. “Noon.” Hands under her hair, she lifted it off her neck and let it fall in a fuzzy wave around her face. “Do you need more sleep?”

  “Ouais. Always.” But he stood, stretching and yawning once again. “Where were you last night?”

  “Apollo’s room,” she answered, hands fluttering to her sides before clasping in front of her. She cracked her knuckles. “Was... were you...”

  “I was just wondering. I wanted to search you out, but I decided against it.”

  She grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, cher.” He walked around the bed and hugged her tightly. “It was more an issue of not having Apollo karate chop me.”

  “I can’t help it,” she replied and kissed his Adam’s apple. “I feel guilty when one of you wants me and I’m not available.”

  “It’s the nature of the beast.” Shrugging, he stepped away. “I’m going to take a shower. What are your plans for the day?”

  “I’ve already been to see Cai. I think he’s being released tomorrow. I told him about Tyler. He was pretty upset.”

  Matisse winced. He and his best friends, Apollo Morris, Seok Jheon, Cai Josephs, and Ryan Valore, came with baggage, but they were dealing with it. Luckily, it didn’t keep Nora from falling in love with them.

  Or them with her.

  Earlier in the year, Ryan’s past had returned to bite him in the ass. He’d learned he was wait-listed from Calvin Coolidge School of Law, which had granted him early admission. After investigating, Ryan discovered his high school friend, Beau Curtis, had accused him of breaking CCSL’s morals clause. For a while, it seemed like Matisse’s friend was going to give in and give up. Then Ryan rallied and defended himself to the student council who made the ultimate decision about his admittance. Now things were back on track.

  Sort of. Matisse and his friends were settling into their relationship with Nora. It wasn’t easy to balance a relationship between the six of them, but all of them were committed to each other. In the last few days, Nora had been on an honesty and communication tear. For Matisse, who found reading people difficult at times, her frankness proved a relief. She didn’t let him flounder or struggle to understand her perspective.

  His face heated. He remembered the conversation Nora had with him about sex. Matisse had learned she’d been intimate with Ryan and had assumed it meant they would follow suit. In no uncertain terms, Nora let him know the relationship she had with him would progress at its own rate. There was no need to one-up the other guys or hurry into something when neither of them were ready.

  Angry at first, Matisse had eventually realized she was right. She wanted the relationship they had to be different than the ones she had with Apollo, or Cai, or Seok, or Ryan. That meant something to Matisse. It meant she saw him and he was special to her.

  Up until then in Matisse’s life, special had meant not good enough. With Nora, it turned out to mean unique, individual, one and only.

  “He wants you to visit him.”

  Matisse shook his head. He’d been so deep in thought he’d missed something.

  “Cai,” Nora replied patiently. “He wanted you to visit or at least call him when you were up. He had a question a
bout Tyler.”

  The same week Ryan was taken off the waitlist at CCSL, something else had happened to throw them off-balance. Tyler, one of the kids Cai mentored at the youth center where he worked, attacked Nora. He’d seen her at a coffee shop with Beau, Ryan’s old friend, and mistakenly assumed she was cheating on Cai. It had taken Beau and Apollo to hold him back, but the kid had been arrested for disorderly conduct. It must have been killing Cai not to be at work helping Tyler. Ryan had already been down to the police station, but they wouldn’t tell him anything.

  Why would he need Matisse?

  Unless... It was possible Cai needed him to hack into Tyler’s record. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. A pit formed in his stomach. He didn’t want to, but if Cai asked, he’d do it. There were some things that shouldn’t come to light unless the time was right. Personal things shouldn’t be forced out into the open.

  “Hey.” Cool hands stroked his cheeks, and he glanced down at Nora. Her brown eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter?”

  What was wrong, indeed? Cai only had Tyler’s best interest at heart. Maybe something more was going on.

  “Nothing,” Matisse assured her, wrapping his arms around her waist and curling around her. Her body was warm against his, and he shivered in pleasure.