The Betrayal

  THE BETRAYAL

  Book Four in the Munro Family Series

  Chris Taylor

  When much decorated Australian Federal Police officer Declan Munro is accused of illegally accessing confidential police files containing child pornography, his world is turned upside down. Fronting the investigation into his alleged criminal behaviour is Senior Internal Affairs Investigator Chloe Sabattini.

  A veteran investigator, Chloe is taken aback to discover that not only is Declan likeable, but his protestations of innocence are believable. Furthermore, despite her best efforts, she finds herself drawn to him.

  But the evidence can’t be ignored and Chloe vows to investigate the matter with all of the resources available to her.

  The more she delves, the more she’s convinced of Declan’s innocence. Someone is framing him. But who? And why? And what does a high ranking Government Minister have to do with it?

  An innocent man’s life hangs in the balance. Will she discover the truth before it’s too late? And will she be able to handle the fallout when she does?

  This book is dedicated to my sister Nic, a remarkable woman who is both inspirational and funny. Without her, Chloe Sabattini would never have happened. And as always, to my amazing husband Linden, my very own honorable, hardworking hero.

  The Munro Family Series

  THE PROFILER

  (Book One—Clayton and Ellie)

  THE INVESTIGATOR

  (Book Two—Riley and Kate)

  THE PREDATOR

  (Book Three—Brandon and Alex)

  THE BETRAYAL

  (Book Four—Declan and Chloe)

  THE DECEPTION

  (Book Five—Will and Savannah)

  THE NEGOTIATOR

  (Book Six—Andy and Cally)

  THE RANSOM

  (Book Seven—Lane and Zara)

  THE DEFENDANT

  (Book Eight—Chase and Josie)

  THE SHOOTING

  (Book Nine—Tom and Lily)

  THE MAKER

  (Book Ten—Bryce and Chanel)

  Read the back cover blurb of each of the Munro Family stories by visiting my website at:

  http://www.christaylorauthor.com.au/about/books

  For the latest news on release dates, sign up for my newsletter at:

  http://www.christaylorauthor.com.au/subscribe-to-our-newsletter/

  PROLOGUE

  The Master turned another page of the report with a lazy flick of his fleshy finger. A short distance away, Chip stood and watched in silence. With clenched fists, he willed the trembling in his body to cease. The pumping of his blood as it pulsed in his ears and the occasional rustle of paper were loud in the comforting dimness of the room.

  The solitary source of light emanated from an antique lamp perched on the hand-carved desk near the Master’s elbow. The meager illumination glinted dully off the silver in the Master’s closely cropped hair, enhancing his air of urban refinement. This was further heightened by a costly suit and snowy-white shirt, tailor-made to fit the Master’s considerable bulk. A five hundred dollar tie, a gift from Chip, had already been discarded and lay in a silken pile amongst the scattering of papers on the desk.

  The Master continued to scrutinize the report in silence. The lines that marked his forehead deepened. With a nonchalant hand, he reached across the desk and picked up the black leather riding crop that rested there. He flicked it with apparent disinterest across his generous lap.

  Nerves and excitement danced in Chip’s gut. His throat tightened. He stared at the riding crop, as mesmerized by the rhythmic slaps as though it was a cobra, poised to strike.

  A tiny moan escaped his parched lips and he instantly bit down on it. The Master’s gaze flew upwards. Steely, black eyes pierced him. His breath halted. Three seconds passed. Then five.

  The Master smiled.

  The breath left Chip’s body in a rush. He tried to stem the relief that poured into his gut. It wasn’t over. Not yet.

  The slap of the riding crop recommenced, but this time, the slaps were slow, measured, tantalizing. The Master looked up at him, his face now relaxed. A smile widened his lips to show a row of straight, coffee-stained teeth.

  “You’ve done well, Chip.”

  The graveled voice rasped along the young man’s nerve endings, leaving them warm and tingling.

  “Th-thank you, Master,” he stammered, basking in the satisfaction that now glinted in the other man’s eyes.

  The riding crop stilled and was returned to where it came from. The Master picked up the pages of the report and shuffled them together before setting them in a neat pile on the desk in front of him. The steely eyes found Chip’s again.

  “This is exactly what I asked of you. I like it when people follow my instructions. I like it very much.”

  Excitement and a little fear surged through him. The Master pushed back against his upholstered leather chair and re-adjusted his bulk. With his legs spread wide, he beckoned.

  “Come over here, Chip. You deserve to be rewarded.”

  The Master’s hand slid over his ample lap to the bulge now noticeable in his pants. He fondled his erection. Excitement exploded through Chip’s veins. His body hardened. He took a hesitant step toward the desk. And then another.

  A smile licked at the Master’s lips. “Take off your shirt, Chip, but leave your tie on. Afterwards, we might talk about that little promotion I mentioned.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Federal Agent Declan Munro tossed his canvas gym bag into the bottom of his government-issued locker and shrugged out of his charcoal-gray suit jacket. Hanging it up on the coat hanger that swung from the rod inside, he smoothed his hands over his thick wind-blown hair, straightened his bright yellow tie and then closed the locker door.

  “Christ, did you collide with a shit-faced canary or something?”

  Declan turned, a quick grin spreading across his face at the sight of his friend and colleague, Agent Charlie Stanford.

  “No harm in standing out in a crowd, Stanford. It takes a real man to be brave enough to wear a color like this.”

  Charlie snorted, grinning back at him. “Whatever floats your boat, Munro.”

  Declan shrugged, his smile still in place. “It’s a Christmas present from my mom. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Hide it in the darkest, furthest place in your closet and plead ignorance every time she mentions it.”

  Declan gestured with his chin toward his friend’s much more conservative navy-and-silver tie that hung meekly around his neck. “Is that what you do?”

  Charlie’s expression sobered and he looked away. “I can’t remember the last time my mother gave me a present.”

  Declan shot him a look of surprise, but dropped the subject. He’d known Charlie a little over a year, but they hadn’t done much more than trade the basics about their families. He’d been grateful they’d hit it off the minute he’d stepped foot inside the Child Protection Unit, a division of the Australian Federal Police, and Declan had enjoyed Charlie’s company ever since.

  Having once been a senior detective with the New South Wales Police Service, Declan had expected to be greeted with a fair amount of badgering and distrust. Unfriendly rivalry abounded between the State and Federal law enforcement agencies and relations were often less than amicable.

  But his welcome into the CPU as an AFP recruit couldn’t have been warmer. Declan didn’t know if the reasons had more to do with the fact two of his brothers were long-serving, well-respected agents or that budget cuts had seen fewer and fewer recruits come through their hallowed doors. Nevertheless, he accepted the welcoming attitude with more than a little relief.

  Like him, Charlie was in his mid-thirties and hadn’t yet succumbed to the anchor of marriage. Their budd
ing friendship had been made even easier when they discovered neither of them had a girlfriend. They were among the few who didn’t have significant others to be consulted about all things from what they might do after a long day at work to how they’d spend a free Saturday night.

  With another weekend approaching, it was time to make plans. “What are you doing tomorrow?” Declan threw the question over his shoulder as he headed for the door that led into the squad room.

  Charlie grimaced. “Working. The boss has me on a late shift on Saturday and an early on Sunday.”

  “I thought you were rostered off?”

  “And now I’m not.”

  “Bummer.”

  “You can say that again. What do you have planned?”

  “I thought I might go and watch the football game. The Raiders are playing on Saturday afternoon,” Declan said, referring to Canberra’s National Rugby League team.

  “Who are they up against?”

  “Manly.” He winced. The Sydney team—an old rival of his local team—was currently at the top of the table.

  “Should be a good game.”

  “Yeah.” Declan reached his desk and pulled out his standard issue, faux-leather office chair. “Too bad you’re gonna miss it.”

  Charlie nodded and turned away to take a seat at his desk, not far away. Declan pressed the power button on his computer. Tugging the keyboard toward him, he waited for it to boot up. Sensing a presence behind him, he swung around in his chair and greeted his boss.

  “Morning, Gary. How are things?”

  Detective Superintendent Gary Julian did not return his smile. “Declan, I need to see you in my office.” With that, the boss turned on his heel and left.

  Declan frowned and swung back around to meet Charlie’s equally bemused gaze.

  “What’s that all about?” Charlie asked.

  Declan shook his head. “Damned if I know. I guess I’d better get in there and find out.”

  Declan pushed back his chair and walked the short distance to Gary’s office. With a brief knock on the half open door, he entered and came to a halt in front of his boss’ desk.

  “Close the door.”

  Mystified at Gary’s brusque tone, Declan did as he asked and tried to ignore the tiny fluttering of nerves in his gut. The last time he’d been called into a closed-door meeting with his superior had been more than a decade ago when, as a cadet fresh out of the Academy, he’d fucked up a simple roadside breath test by failing to ensure the machine had been properly calibrated.

  The offender had “walked” on a high range offence and his boss had impressed upon the young probationary constable that a mistake like that must never happen again. Declan could still feel the burn of humiliation at the memory.

  Gary had remained standing. Even at six foot four, Declan had to look up at him. The man was a bear.

  “Is something the matter, Gary?” Declan kept his tone even, refusing to pay heed to his nervousness.

  Gary’s gaze fell to a pile of papers on his desk. He shifted them around and then sighed. When he looked up, his expression was grim.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, Declan. I’ve been contacted by Internal Affairs. They’ve received a call from someone who claims he can prove you’ve been accessing sensitive computer files without proper authorization. Given that you work in the Child Protection Unit, I don’t have to tell you how serious this is.”

  Shock and disbelief rendered Declan momentarily speechless. He frowned hard and tried to process what he’d just heard, but it was no use. He couldn’t comprehend for even an instant how anyone could come up with something so preposterous.

  “That’s… That’s utter bullshit,” he eventually sputtered. “I assume you mean files containing child porn?”

  At Gary’s tight nod, Declan shook his head. “How the hell…? I mean, why…? Fuck…” He shook his head again. “You’re joking, right?”

  Gary’s expression remained disconcertingly grim.

  “I wish I was. To say that I’m shocked is an understatement. You’ve been a star agent from the moment you walked in here, a real asset to the team. I don’t want to believe for even a second you’re involved in something so fucked up.”

  Desperation clawed at Declan’s insides. Fear nipped at the edges of his consciousness and his throat tightened. He took a step closer to Gary’s desk, fists clenched.

  “It’s not true, boss. You have to believe me, it’s not true.”

  Gary’s shoulders heaved on another sigh. “I want to, Declan. Believe me, I want to, but you must appreciate how sensitive this is. You work in the CPU. Any allegation—no matter how insubstantial—that an agent under my command has illegally accessed files will be investigated to the full extent of the law. Do you understand?”

  Declan stared at him, his mouth agape.

  Gary was the first to look away. “IA has already opened an investigation. You have an interview with them at nine o’clock on Monday morning. I need you to step down, effective immediately. You’ll be on full pay until it’s sorted out, one way or another.”

  The fear Declan had tried to suppress erupted into full-blown panic.

  “Fuck, Gary. No! No, boss. Listen to me. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a fucking clue.” He shook his head violently. “There’s been some mistake. That can happen right? A computer glitch, or something.” He stopped his frantic pacing and snapped his fingers. “That’s it! It must be! A computer glitch. A fucking computer glitch. We’ll probably be laughing about this in a day or so.”

  Gary remained unmoved, although Declan thought he saw a glimmer of sympathy in his boss’ world-weary eyes. The sight of it ignited his anger.

  “Don’t go feeling sorry for me, Gary. Don’t you fucking dare. This is bullshit! It wasn’t me. There’s been a mistake. You’ll see. It’s all a mistake. A simple, fucking mistake.”

  Gary rested his hands on his desk and leaned over it, holding Declan’s gaze.

  “I hope for your sake that’s true. But in the meantime, I have my orders. You’re standing down until further notice.”

  Declan stumbled out of Gary’s office and headed in the direction of his own desk, his thoughts a disjointed blur. A dull roar sounded in his ears. In a daze, he saw Charlie stand and move toward him, a concerned expression on his face.

  “Are you all right, mate?”

  Declan pushed past him and staggered toward the locker room. His limbs were heavy, like they were weighed down with concrete. The door to the locker room seemed light years away.

  Reaching it at last, he put a shoulder to its hard surface. The door gave way and he collapsed against the bank of steel lockers and sucked oxygen into his depleted lungs. His heart hammered against his chest.

  Christ, he was having a heart attack.

  “Shit, mate, you look awful. What’s going on?”

  Charlie’s hands grasped the material of Declan’s shirt and steadied him. Declan was thankful for the support, not at all sure his legs would continue to keep him upright.

  “I don’t know; I don’t know,” he gasped, shaking his head. “Someone’s setting me up. IA is involved. I have to go.”

  Pulling out of Charlie’s grasp, he turned and stumbled to his locker. Leaning heavily on the wall of steel, he released the combination lock and tossed his things into his gym bag. Charlie watched him in silence, concern marring his handsome features.

  “IA? Fuck. What are you talking about? What can I do, mate? Please, talk to me. Tell me what I can do.”

  Declan stopped what he was doing and spun on his heel, anger exploding through his fear and confusion.

  “I’ll tell you what you can do. You can keep your eyes wide open and your ears to the ground. And spread the word. I’ll find out who did this and when I do, I’ll make them regret they ever fucking knew me.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The snooze button went off for the third time and Chloe Sabattini groaned. She lost another minute of sleep de
bating whether she could actually afford to spend any more time in bed… Then guilt won out and she reluctantly pushed off the blankets and climbed out—her weekend was officially over.

  After her restless night, she thought briefly about skipping the shower, but one look at her thick, black hair standing on end changed her mind. Nothing but water, conditioner and a hairdryer would be strong enough to tame the long, riotous curls into the order and respectability expected of a senior Australian Federal Police Internal Affairs investigator.

  Toweling dry after a few minutes under the steaming hot spray, she slid open the door to her closet and surveyed its contents. Like every other morning, an array of sensible black and navy suits and even more sensible tailored white or pastel blouses hung there.

  Once, months ago, in a fit of daring she’d bought a fancy fitted-silk blouse in the hottest of pink, but she’d stowed it in the back of her cupboard as soon as she returned home. The price tag was still attached.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have a healthy self-esteem. She was more than happy to have inherited her parents’ dark Italian coloring; that her flawless olive skin was envied by her school friends when she’d sailed through puberty with barely a zit and they’d been battling full scale acne; that her figure, although a little on the short side, was compact and curvy in all the right places—or so she’d been told by the handful of men she’d briefly dated since she’d been old enough to drive. She was even happy with her mostly straight, white teeth that had emerged without the aid of braces.