From an Unknown Sender, page 1
Cover image Portrait of Beautiful Girl with Flowing Hair © Nizas / Adobe Stock, Speedboat Aerial View Stock Photo © DKart / iStock.com Cover design by Julie Olson
Cover design copyright © 2023 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2023 by Traci Hunter Abramson and Sian Ann Bessey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., PO Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the authors’ imaginations, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Name: Traci Hunter Abramson and Sian Ann Bessey
Title: From an Unknown Sender / Traci Hunter Abramson and Sian Ann Bessey
Description: American Fork, UT : Covenant Communications, Inc. [2023]
Identifiers: Library of Congress Control Number 2023931173 | 978-1-52442-461-9
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023931173
First Printing: November 2023
For Shara Meredith
Thank you for moving mountains for us.
Praise for From an Unknown Sender
“From An Unknown Sender is complex and exciting. Traci Hunter Abramson and Sian Ann Bessey planned and executed the plot brilliantly. They created a world of drug smuggling and murder, and I was drawn into it. I was intrigued from the first page until the end. With all the twists and turns, I never knew what would happen next. It was an exciting read, and I could not turn the pages fast enough. The suspense kept me on the edge of my seat. The characters were well-developed and relatable. The two couples were both relatives and friends. They were closely attached and helped with whatever they could. The story is brilliantly written and has a fitting end. It exceeded my expectations by far.”
—Readers’ Favorite five-star review
Praise for Heirs of Falcon Point
“Be sure to take your heart medication when reading Heirs of Falcon Point, because the suspense and surprises are sure to raise your heart rate. Four award-winning authors have come together to create a multi-faceted book; thriller; mystery, multiple romances, and a settling of scores for ancient crimes—and some really determined villains, to boot. For those of us who love historical fiction this book is particularly satisfying in that it creates historical scenes, brought forward to the present day to tell the rest of the story. I highly recommend it.”
—Jerry Borrowman, author of the ‘Til the Boys Come Home World War I and World War II fiction series, as well as award-winning historical biography and nonfiction
“The riveting story of Heirs of Falcon Point ended well and will stay with me for a while. If you enjoy historical fiction, you will especially enjoy this story.”
—Readers’ Favorite five-star review
“With historical elements, suspense, action, a dash of romance, and inspiration, this tale will appeal to many readers. It’s well-paced, full of twists and turns, and populated by colorful, realistic, well-drawn characters. The Lang family and their descendants are exemplary in their love of history and family, and their story is absorbing and poignant.”
—Inkwell Inspirations
“Riveting, suspenseful and full of lots of unexpected turns! This is a strongly written story reminiscent of the von Trapp family fleeing Austria from the Third Reich, with countless twists and turns before dropping the reader into the present day where descendants try to unravel the myths and mysteries. It is captivating from the very first page and holds readers attention until the end. The book is creative and historically accurate.”
—InD’Tale Magazine
Chapter 1
Cole tucked his chin against his chest as he walked past the surveillance camera in the hotel hallway. The ball cap on his head would hide his face in case anyone happened to be watching—or more precisely, if anyone watched the camera’s feed later.
Not that he was doing anything illegal. Well, not really. He wasn’t sure the Budapest police force would approve of him entering a hotel room that didn’t belong to him without consulting with them first, but the little piece of paper in Cole’s pocket gave him permission to do it.
He wasn’t going to question how the CIA had gained the warrant or why he had been instructed to circumvent the local authorities in conducting his search. Regardless, the CIA and Interpol needed answers, and Cole had been tasked with finding them.
The drugs flowing into Europe had increased at an alarming rate over the past several months, a significant portion of those drugs continuing into the United States. The smuggling had to be stopped, and Jakub Němek was the key to stemming the flow. At least, that was the intel Cole had received from CIA headquarters.
He reached Němek’s room and knocked on the door. The man should be at breakfast right now, but the last thing Cole wanted was to walk in and find the room occupied. When no one answered, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and opened an app a friend had shared with him. He held the phone next to the door’s electronic locking mechanism and hit the button to scan for the right frequency. Moments later, the light on the black control panel turned green, and the lock clicked open.
“Thank you, Cas,” Cole whispered under his breath.
He opened the door as though the hotel room were his own and slipped inside. “Housekeeping,” Cole called out in Hungarian. He winced at the sound of his mangled accent. Hungarian was not one of his languages, and he doubted it ever would be.
No matter. Judging from the lack of sound and movement, he was alone anyway.
He checked the bathroom as he passed by and continued into the main living area. The hotel room was generous by European standards, but it was far from a suite. A large bed occupied the center of the room, with the white down comforter mussed up on the left side.
Cole checked the drawers in the bedside tables, a Bible the only contents. He searched the dresser. Nothing. He opened the closet door. Clothes hung neatly inside, and a pair of ridiculously expensive Italian loafers sat on the floor along with an even more expensive briefcase.
Cole grabbed the briefcase and set it on the bed. As expected, the case was locked. He pulled a pocketknife from his jacket and used it to jimmy the latches open.
When he lifted the lid, he let out a low whistle. Several thousand euros and a thick stack of Hungarian forints lay inside. The analysts at CIA headquarters were right. Němek wasn’t doing all of his transactions using hidden bank accounts and electronic money transfers. He clearly also had clients who still dealt in cash.
Cole set the money aside and pulled out a file folder from the bottom of the case. Receipts from various shipping companies, all of which had been paid in cash. He rifled through them but didn’t find any evidence of product coming into Europe; however, several of the receipts were for shipments going from Prague to the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and the United States.
He read the receipt for a package that had been sent from Prague to Baltimore. That same box had been seized by port authorities when a drug-sniffing dog had flagged it. Cole’s lips curved into a smile. “Gotcha.”
He looked through the rest of the paperwork in the briefcase with the hope of finding something that would connect Němek to the deaths of two drug suppliers in Punjab, India, but the evidence before him didn’t stretch that far.
The lock on the door clicked open, and Cole straightened as Němek entered. The dealer strode into the open area of the room before Cole could hide. Not that he needed to hide. He had the evidence to arrest this man. Or to have him arrested. Too bad his CIA credentials didn’t allow him to do the honors himself.
Cole lifted the receipt in his hand and faced the light-haired man who was nearly a decade his senior. “Looks like you’ve been shipping more than souvenirs out of that shop of yours.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Němek asked, his English thick with a Czech accent.
“This is proof that your drug-running days are over.” Cole pocketed the receipt and reached for the phone on the bedside table, then dialed the operator. “I need the police in room 431.”
Before Cole could continue the conversation, Němek produced a knife from his jacket and swung it toward Cole.
Cole leaned back as far as he could. The knife sliced through his sweater, barely missing his skin.
Němek thrust the knife at Cole again, but this time, Cole blocked the blade with the phone receiver, then jumped onto the soft mattress of the bed before bounding to the other side.
“There’s no need for that,” Cole said calmly even as adrenaline pumped through him. “The police are on their way, and we can have a nice, long chat about why you’ve been sending heroin into the United States.”
“I did no such thing.” He moved to the foot of the bed. “I’m a legitimate businessman.”
Cole cocked an eyebrow. “Then why are you threatening me with a knife?”
“You are an intruder in my room.” Němek wave d a hand toward the money strewn on the bed as he circled to the other side of the bed, where Cole now stood. “You are trying to rob me.”
“The only thing I’m taking is the evidence to prove to the authorities who and what you really are.”
Something flashed in Němek’s eyes, and he lunged at Cole again. This time, Cole had enough room to defend himself. He moved to the side in the same moment he reached out and grabbed Němek’s wrist. A knee to Němek’s stomach, pressure on his wrist. Both actions were instinctive but didn’t immediately provide the desired results.
Němek tightened his hold on the knife and used his free hand to punch Cole in the kidneys. Cole winced in pain, but rather than release Němek, he twisted the man’s arm until the knife finally thudded onto the carpeted floor.
Cole kicked it out of Němek’s reach, and it clattered against the wall behind him. Before Cole could fully face his opponent again, Němek struck him, this time his fist connecting with Cole’s jaw.
A quick counterpunch from Cole forced Němek to stumble back.
The two men squared off, Cole balancing on the balls of his feet, Němek mirroring him. Judging from the man’s stance, he had clearly studied some type of martial arts.
Sirens filled the air, growing louder with each second.
Only a few more minutes and the police would be here. Němek kicked out, his foot connecting with Cole’s ribs, and then he dove for the knife on the floor.
Cole jumped back, anticipating Němek’s next move. Sure enough, the blade whizzed past him. Had Němek cut another hole in his sweater?
Annoyed on principle, Cole reached for the gun holstered at his back and pulled it into view. He took a step back and faced off with the man who was once again wielding a knife. “Drop it.”
Němek debated briefly before he opened his hand and let the knife fall.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and an instant later, the same command was issued to Cole as the Budapest police rushed into the room and spotted him holding his pistol. Shouted commands followed. Cole really needed to learn Hungarian.
Guessing the new arrivals were less than comfortable with his holding a weapon, Cole slowly held out his hands and lowered his gun to the floor.
“Arrest him!” Němek insisted. “He broke into my room and tried to rob me.”
“I’m here on official business,” Cole countered. “This is a lawful search.”
Either the officer didn’t speak English or he didn’t care why Cole was in Němek’s room. He scooped up Cole’s gun and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.
“You can take me in to the station, but bring him too.” Cole nodded at Němek. “He’s an international drug smuggler wanted by Interpol.”
The man’s partner must have understood because he pulled out his handcuffs and approached Němek.
Němek glared at Cole. “You have no idea what you’re doing. Arresting me will only make things worse.”
“I doubt that.”
“You are unleashing a nightmare, and you don’t even know it.”
Němek’s words echoed through Cole’s thoughts as they were escorted from the hotel room. As far as he was concerned, putting Němek behind bars would stop the nightmare.
Cole glanced at the real prisoner. Maybe he should use their time together in the back of the patrol car to begin his interrogation. He wanted this mission behind him so he could get home for the holidays. He was long overdue to spend time with his girlfriend and cousins.
His wrists chafed against the handcuffs binding them. He’d leave out this little detail when he joined his family in Amsterdam. He would never live it down if Lars found out he had been arrested, even if the action was unwarranted.
***
“My father’s name is Thor.”
Lars took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Marit in the passenger seat. Thor? Like the Norse god who threw thunderbolts at anyone he didn’t like? She had to be joking. What right-minded Dutch mother named a baby Thor? Unfortunately, Marit’s beautiful brown eyes were disconcertingly serious.
Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Lars cleared his throat. “And your mother’s name?”
He’d met Marit’s mother briefly at the hospital almost eight months ago when he and Marit had been recovering from a car accident. Unfortunately, his memory of their introduction was fuzzy, and he would be hard-pressed to recognize her again. Strong pain medication tended to have that effect.
“Claudia,” Marit said. “Thor and Claudia Jansen.” Her soft giggle was almost lost above the sound of the car engine.
“Are you teasing me?”
“I wish I were. And so do most of the boys who came to pick me up at my house.”
Lars grinned. Marit was a professional model; she turned heads wherever she went. It wasn’t surprising that the boys she’d gone to school with had made regular pilgrimages to her home. “Your father lives up to his fearsome name, then?”
“Let’s just say that during my teenage years, he kept a hammer in the drawer of the small table in the entryway and made sure he was holding it when he answered the door to any boys he didn’t approve of.”
Lars slowed the car. They were already within Maastricht city limits, which meant he was within ten minutes of facing that very door himself. “I don’t suppose he put the hammer back in his toolbox when you moved to Amsterdam, did he?”
Marit laughed. “I’m pretty sure my mother did it for him.”
Not of his own volition, then. “Great.”
Marit’s eyes sparkled. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re my boyfriend, and I invited you to spend Christmas with me and my parents. That makes you a special guest.”
“Or the biggest threat yet,” Lars said.
“Well, you are cuter than any of the other boys who came over.”
Lars raised an amused eyebrow. “None of your male model coworkers with the smoldering good looks went to your school, huh?”
“Tragically, not one,” Marit said solemnly. “Although Dirk Beekhof was exceptionally proud of his wispy mustache.” Lars chuckled, but before he could learn anything more about Dirk Beekhof or the other boys who’d dared face Thor before him, Marit pointed to an approaching road. “Take this right,” she said. “It leads to a small car park.” She shrugged apologetically. “There are many advantages to living in the old district, but parking is not one of them. We’ll have to drag our cases over the cobbles from here.”
With an appreciative eye, Lars studied the classic Dutch architecture lining the street. “It’s a beautiful area. Have you always lived here?”
She shook her head. “My parents inherited this home from my grandparents when I was ten. Opa was a professor of classics at Maastricht University.”
“Classics, as in Greek and Latin?” Lars asked.
“Yes. And Norse mythology.”
Lars pulled the car into a vacant spot and gave her a knowing look. “Naming a son Thor suddenly makes a lot more sense.”
“I thought it might.” She leaned over and brushed his cheek with her lips. “Just be yourself. My parents will love you.”
The warmth of her touch lingered as she reached for the door handle.
“Does your father work for the university too?” he asked.
A blast of cold air entered the car. He took the key out of the ignition, and she stepped outside.
“No.” She tugged her red beanie a little lower over her long blonde hair and smiled at him. “He owns a security company.”
Chapter 2
Isabelle Roberts tucked her gloved hands into the pockets of her lined, full-length coat. Fat snowflakes swirled around her, and the scent of topfenstrudel wafted toward her as she passed the bakery on her way to the train station.
Vienna at Christmastime. Only two more days until the holiday, and her parents would arrive from D.C. any minute.
She had hoped their arrival would give her the opportunity to introduce them to Cole, but her boyfriend of the past six weeks had left on a temporary assignment thirteen days ago. The CIA really needed to stop messing with her holiday plans.
