New Thrilling Release on KU! SHADOWED SECRET by S.F. Baumgartner ~ Includes an Excerpt & Giveaway!

PROLOGUE

THE VATICAN

30 Years Ago…

The grand splendor of St. Peter’s Basilica loomed behind them, its intricate façade bathed in golden afternoon light. The ceremony had been overwhelming—the Gregorian chants, the solemn laying on of hands, the lingering fragrance of sacred chrism oil. Now, standing outside in St. Peter’s Square, Phil Shagley touched the diagonal white stole draped across his chest, the mark of his new role as a transitional deacon. 

Around him, groups of newly ordained deacons and priests stood with their families, posing for photos, offering blessings. A murmur of conversation mixed with the footsteps echoing across the stone pavement. The peace he felt in those sacred moments inside was already fading. Maybe it was the memories of his SEAL days, the ones that always crept up when things got quiet. 

“Deacon Phil.” Fr. Michael Donovan, his mentor, approached with measured steps. Walking beside him was a tall younger man with a bright expression. Fr. Stanislaw Novak, a newly ordained priest from Poland. 

Phil nodded his greeting, then addressed Fr. Donovan. “Thank you for being here, Father.” 

Fr. Donovan clasped Phil’s hand. “Of course, Phil. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Warmth smoothed his voice, but beneath it lay something else, an unspoken weight. “I’m proud of you.” 

Fr. Novak shook Phil’s hand. “Congratulations, Deacon Shagley.” 

They exchanged pleasantries, speaking of the beauty of the basilica, the solemnity of the ceremony, and the uncertainty of the road ahead. The square overflowed with jubilant commotion —clergy and seminarians congratulating one another, family members embracing their sons who had taken the next step toward the priesthood. Then Novak excused himself, moving toward a group of fellow priests and guests gathered near the basilica’s steps. 

Fr. Donovan’s expression shifted. The warmth remained, but the lightheartedness faded. His gaze held something deeper, something that pulled Phil’s attention like a long-forgotten instinct. 

“I heard about Leon Roche,” Fr. Donovan said. “I’m sorry, Phil.” Phil stiffened. He hadn’t expected his mentor to bring up his stepfather’s death, let alone know about it. 

“You knew?” Phil whispered. At Donovan’s nod, Phil exhaled. His gaze drifted across the square, past the towering columns framing St. Peter’s Basilica. “They gave me leave for the funeral. Then I had to come straight back here.” 

During his pause, the din of the square intruded on the silence between them. 

“I understand Mickey is at St. Ann’s Orphanage now.” “St. Ann’s?” Phil’s head snapped up. “No, that can’t be right. Mickey was supposed to be with an elderly aunt. That’s where he went after the funeral.” 

“Well, ‘elderly’ is the operative word. My sources told me she had a stroke and is now in a care facility. She can’t take care of a teenager. Mickey’s been at St. Ann’s for a couple of years now.” A hollowness carved itself way into his chest. They had never been too close, not with the twelve-year gap between them. And Mickey was still just a kid when Phil left for the service. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t he tell me?” 

“Mickey’s been through a lot. I imagine he didn’t want to burden you while you were in formation. But he needs you, Phil. More than ever now.” 

“I should have been there for him. I should have—” “You did what you had to do,” Fr. Donovan interrupted. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m telling you this.” 

Phil lifted his gaze, waiting. His mentor edged closer. “I wanted to talk to you about an opportunity.” 

Phil tensed. He knew that tone. “You’ve been here in Rome for a while now, and you must be thinking about what comes next,” the priest continued. “I’ve spoken with some people, and there’s a possibility for you to be placed somewhere closer to Mickey. Fr. Bob, the pastor at the chapel parish on Mirror Estate, is nearing retirement.” 

Phil narrowed his eyes. “Okay…?” “The chapel parish is connected to St. Ann’s Orphanage.” Donovan let that sink in. “It would give you a chance to be close to Mickey, to keep an eye on him. But there’s more to it.” 

“What do you mean?” Fr. Donovan scanned the bustling square, then signaled him to follow. 

As Phil trailed the priest, they approached a narrow stone passageway near the basilica, partially concealed by an ornate archway. A discreet but authoritative sign affixed to the wall beside it displayed lettering etched into aged brass: Accesso Riservato—Solo Personale Autorizzato. 

Phil understood it meant “Restricted Access—Authorized Personnel Only.” But his mentor barely spared it a glance as he pushed open the wooden door and led Phil into the dimly lit corridor. The hustle and murmur of St. Peter’s Square faded behind them. 

Only then did Fr. Donovan turn to him. “The Church has… certain needs in that area. People with your experience, both military and spiritual, are rare. I’m not asking you to pick up where you left off, but I am asking you to be aware. Vatican Intelligence has interests there and believes you’d be uniquely suited to assist them. Quietly.” 

Phil’s pulse quickened. He left the SEALs for a reason. God called him to be a priest. And yet… he still maintained his training regimen as much as possible. 

“What are you suggesting? For me to serve as a priest and… what? An operative?” 

“Yes, in a way only you can.” He rubbed the back of his neck and dipped his head, his blood rushing. Lord, is this what you want for me? Even as the thought appeared, he was at peace. When he looked up again, he already knew his answer. 

“When do I leave?” Fr. Donovan gripped Phil’s shoulder. “Relax. This is not an order. You’ll be notified of your transitional deacon assignment like everyone else. And we’ll be in touch.” 

Phil glanced at the basilica behind them. Apparently, the life he thought he left behind wasn’t done with him yet. 

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPEL, MIRROR ESTATE

Friday Afternoon

PRESENT DAY

Phil thudded closed his leather-bound notebook, marking the conclusion of the final meeting with Olivia Tso and Simon Roth before their nuptials. The years had etched subtle lines around their eyes—crow’s feet framing Olivia’s bright almond-shaped eyes and deeper creases marking Simon’s distinguished face beneath his salt-and-pepper hair. Though both were in their middle years, Olivia’s petite, athletic frame and Simon’s trim, average-height figure spoke to their vitality. 

“Well, that’s it!” He clasped his hands. “You’ve made it through all the sessions. And you’re still together.” 

Simon chuckled. “We are definitely getting married.” She smiled at her fiancé. “We’d better.” Phil got their attention back. “The rehearsal is the day before the wedding. I hope there’s no last-minute changes.” 

She shook her head. “We’re good. We’ll be here. Hard to believe it’s only two weeks away.” 

“Here’s to new beginnings.” Simon clasped her hand in an affectionate squeeze. “You should show him your medal.” 

“Right.” She reached for the necklace and pulled out the medal hanging from it. “I’m sure you’re familiar with this medal.” 

Phil took one look at the famous Medal of the Immaculate Conception and nodded. “The Miraculous Medal. It looks heavier than any I’ve seen.” 

“It is. My best friend, Marie—a nun, by the way—gave it to me years ago. She has one too. Her grandfather, after witnessing a bullet deflect off his friend’s Miraculous Medal, had one crafted from repurposed military-grade steel. He believed it saved his life when it later deflected a bullet meant for him.” 

Phil smiled. “I’ve read countless similar testimonies, illnesses cured, accidents averted. Remember it’s not the medal itself, but the power comes from God.” 

She slid her necklace back. “So, Father, how has the parish been lately? The holidays are always a whirlwind, but anything new as we enter the new year?” 

He scratched his chin. “The same, for the most part. We had an enormous turnout for all the Christmas Masses, as always. It was good to see so many faces, even if some are what we call ‘C&E folks,’ only showing up at Christmas and Easter. But they’re part of the flock too.” 

“Of course,” Simon agreed. “It’s wonderful that they have a place they can return to, even if it’s not as frequently as you might like.” 

Phil inclined his head. “Well said. And, of course, Fr. Jeremy’s been a blessing to have around. He took some time off to visit his family. Will be back any day now.” 

“Are you thinking about retiring?” Olivia glanced at the wall clock. 

“I’m not quite at the mandatory retirement age yet, but it’s on the horizon. It’s good to have Fr. Jeremy around, so I can take a break now and then. And you? Still keeping busy at work?” 

To most people, she was a consultant with an elite FBI task force, though he knew she was still an intelligence operative. 

“You could say that. Nothing exciting. Mostly paperwork and consulting with other agencies these days. But I manage.” 

“We haven’t had a lot of excitement since the Ghost’s move. Come to think of it, she’s been rather quiet.” Simon drew his fiancée’s hand into his lap. “She’s still giving you names, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but nobody exciting.” 

Marge Beaumont, aka the Ghost, a notorious criminal, had made a perplexing deal with the government since her capture about a year and a half ago. She agreed to help an elite FBI task force apprehend those on the most wanted list. In return, she would stay on the Mirror Estate grounds instead of the supermax. 

Phil remained quiet. At the beginning of last year, he visited the Ghost at the Federation Detention Center. 

“Remember your promise?” he asked. 

A pallor crept across her features, her breath catching as her eyes went wide, darkened by something only she could see. “Yes, of course.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Not what I’ve been hearing.” She scoffed. “I have an image to maintain. Everything is going according to plan.” 

“I heard you gave the order to put Grace and Kyle on a hit list.”

“Absolutely not!” Those darkened eyes flashed. “It was Rook’s doing. I only wanted to find out who was responsible for Jade’s death. As it turned out, their parents are.” 

He took a deep breath and muttered a silent prayer. Ah, secrets. So many secrets. He couldn’t reveal to her Jade, Olivia’s legend, wasn’t dead. “The agents had to do what they had to do, but their children had nothing to do with it. Most importantly, this is not the way to salvation.” 

Her defiant posture didn’t waver, nor did she respond. “Listen.” He leaned forward. “Soon, you’ll be living on the Mirror Estate grounds. Don’t even think about escaping or reneging on your promise. Any funny business, I guarantee Vatican would hear about it, and then you know what would happen.” 

“Father!” Olivia’s voice brought him out of his reverie. He refocused on the couple before he stood up. “I should let you two go. If I don’t see you before rehearsal, enjoy your week, both of you.” 

He led them to the door of the parish office. The warm after- noon air met him, heavy with Florida humidity and a lingering pine scent from the holiday season. They nearly collided with Jeremy, who hustled up the path, hands tucked into his coat pockets, head down. 

The young priest beamed when he saw them. “Hey, Olivia, Simon, ready for your big day?” 

Simon nodded while Olivia said, “Yes. How was your visit home?” 

“Wonderful, thank you. It was nice to be with family. But I’m glad to be back.” 

They shared goodbyes, handshakes, and well-wishes before Olivia and Simon strolled down the path. 

Jeremy waved them off with a grin, then stepped closer to Phil. “Anything I should know about?” 

He shook his head. “Everything is good.” Phil’s gaze drifted toward the chapel. A lone figure sat in one of the pews, head bowed, hands clasped. Something about the man seemed familiar, though Phil couldn’t place him. The chapel’s subdued lighting cast the man in shadow, but the briefest flash of white at his collar confirmed it—a clerical collar, like his own. 

Odd. It wasn’t unusual to see another priest visit the chapel, but something about this one made him pause. A vague, unsettled feeling prickled at the back of his neck. 

He waved Jeremy on. “You go ahead. I’m going to check on something.” 

The young priest continued on his way, leaving Phil to edge closer to the chapel. 

“Sorry, Father, are you going in?” Leo, the longtime custodian, stopped on the chapel door’s other side, a toolbox in hand. “I can come back.” 

“Ah, yes, the loose hinge.” Phil had reported that. He frowned. The man was gone. “No, go ahead. Thank you.” 

He walked toward his office, his mind racing through years of faces, names, encounters. Had he seen the man before, or was it his imagination? Or perhaps, something else?