A Question of Honor

by Mary Anne Wilson

  Trusting him is easy. Telling him is impossible.

  Faith Sizemore needs to disappear. And Wolf Lake, New Mexico, seems as good a place as any. Just to hole up for a few days and rest her road-weary nerves before making her way to Colorado…and then…who knows? Her only destination is away. As far away from Chicago as she can get.

  But lying low in Wolf Lake is impossible. She’s attracting too much attention. Particularly from Detective Adam Carson, a son of the town’s most prominent family. The kind of man she could imagine a life with, if hers wasn’t in chaos. The kind of man who could turn her in…if she doesn’t get out soon!

  Just then Faith knew that a big change in her life had occurred.

  The change had occurred specifically when she’d run into Adam her first night in Wolf Lake. And another change was coming tomorrow.

  “Everyone I know seems to be going through some sort of upheaval in their lives, some minor, some very major,” he said. She heard him exhale and instead of looking over at him, she turned to the side window and the night outside. “Jack and Mallory have endured huge changes and their lives will never be the same.”

  She was uneasy with the conversation. She didn’t want to think about the way lives could be altered forever in a second. She was living through that horror. Her fingers were aching where they clutched her purse, and she forced her hand to relax on the worn leather. “Sometimes we don’t have choices in things like that,” she said softly.

  “True, but I wish Jack would talk about what’s happening with him. He’s so closed, and handling it on his own. That’s no good for anyone.”

  “It’s how he deals with things,” she said, knowing she had no choices about her actions. She’d had to leave, to keep moving and stay low. She never dreamed she’d end up in a truck in a small town with a cop and not be under arrest. That last thought made her want to either laugh or scream. She wasn’t sure which one was the right reaction. So instead, she said, “Everyone has to do what they have to do.”

  Dear Reader,

  A very dear friend of mine said something many years ago that I didn’t quite understand until I started to write and deal with characters on a personal level. “Adam and Eve had different kids.” I thought it was a flip way of saying everyone is as different as everyone else, which is probably true. But I didn’t fully appreciate the basic truth of that statement until I started writing about the Carsons of Wolf Lake.

  Three brothers, Jackson, Gage and Adam, are heading in three different directions, all attached to their heritage, but each with his own unique needs and dreams for his future. Brothers who were raised by the same parents in the same place, Wolf Lake, yet brothers who embraced particular visions of what constituted “perfect.”

  That is until they met the women who would change their lives for the better. It turns out the differences in each brother proves to be the foundation for a relationship that will survive just about anything. A happily-ever-after might be everyone’s goal from childhood, but the journey is what makes a person and shows him or her what this life is all about, including a love that lasts forever.

  I hope you enjoy the Carson family’s journey.

  Mary Anne Wilson

  Mary Anne Wilson

  A Question of Honor

  MARY ANNE WILSON

  is a Canadian transplanted to Southern California, where she lives with her husband, three children and an assortment of animals. She knew she wanted to write romances when she found herself rewriting the great stories in literature, such as A Tale of Two Cities, to give them happy endings. Over her long career she’s published more than thirty romances, had her books on bestseller lists, been nominated for Reviewer’s Choice Awards and received a career nomination in romantic suspense.

  For Kaetlyn, who shows me constantly that life is worth whatever it takes to make it work.

  I love you more than you can ever say you love me!

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chicago, Illinois

  FAITH SIZEMORE STRODE quickly along the upscale residential street located a block from Lake Michigan. A light snow had just begun to fall. As she headed for the only home she’d ever known, she carried the knowledge that she was about to make a decision that would affect the rest of her life.

  She moved unnoticed along the snowy sidewalk. She’d deliberately changed her appearance and was relieved that it seemed to have worked. Gone were the sleek designer clothes, her usual calf-high leather boots and the expensive shoulder bags she habitually carried.

  She’d never been fond of her diminutive size—five feet two inches and barely one hundred pounds—but now she thought it might work in her favor and that it gave new meaning to the expression “staying under the radar.”

  Gone were the makeup, the leather gloves and diamond studs she always wore, a gift from her father when she graduated from college. Plain and simple had been her goal. She was plain and simple right then as she neared the front of her family’s historic town house. The reporters that had dogged her every step for the past four months were clustered outside the high wrought-iron gates, and she knew this would be the real test

  The “new” Faith was hunched into the wind, her chin tucked into the fleece collar of her definitely unstylish wool parka. Slim jeans were little protection against the biting cold and wind-driven snow, but her chunky boots took the slippery street with ease. A dark watch cap was pulled low on her head, almost covering her ebony hair, transformed from long, sleek locks to a cap of crazy curls that didn’t even touch the collar of her jacket.

  She didn’t slow as she got to the group of reporters and the nearby protesters. She didn’t look at the house or the six-foot tall gates. Instead, she kept going, muttering, “Excuse me,” over and over again as she made her way through the crowd.

  Suddenly, she felt something hit her shoulder and she turned, coming face-to-face with one of the protesters, a woman who held a sign that read Greed Is a Four-Letter Word. Faith thought it best not to say anything and picked up her pace. She was almost at the corner. Behind her the woman screamed, “Death to corporate greed!”

  The security guard hired by her father was keeping an eye on the crowd. He spotted her but gave no indication that he recognized her, yet he’d seen her every day for the past month. She let out a long sigh.

  She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been about doing this until that moment, and now, surprisingly, she felt vaguely faint. The feeling fled when she turned the corner onto the side street that ran along the extensive property where the hundred-year-old house stood.

  She walked purposefully, nearing a narrow gate that fit snugly into the fence and led to an arch cut in the brick wall of the garage, a converted carriage house. She kept going but chanced a look back, noticing her boot impressions in the snow. No one was there. In one fluid motion, she reversed directions and retraced her steps to the gate. She quickly put in a security code on a pad, and the gate clicked, then slowly swung open.

  She went through and careful
ly closed the gate so that it wouldn’t make any noise. She heard the lock reset with a soft humming sound, and then she turned to hurry across the snow-shrouded terrace. Ignoring a set of French doors that led to the formal dining room, she approached a single oak door almost out of sight at the top of two cement steps.

  Another keypad surrendered to her code, and she stepped inside, into the almost total darkness of the utility room where deliveries were made. She didn’t need to turn on any lights because she knew the space by heart. Quietly, she moved through the kitchen to the back stairs that led to the upper floors. There was her bedroom, but she sidestepped it and went directly to her favorite room, the library.

  She loved the dark wood paneling, the bookshelves soaring to the ceiling. A huge bay window overlooked the front gardens and the gates that blocked the main entrance to the property. Just being on the inside made her feel safer. When she was a child, she would curl up in one of the rich leather chairs by her father’s massive antique desk and read while he worked.

  This was the only home she’d ever known, and her chest tightened as the thought flashed in her mind that this might be her last time here. She wished she could just sit in the chair and read or watch her father at his computer, instead of making such a huge decision about her future. She swallowed to try to ease the tightness, then glanced inside the partially opened library door.

  She saw her father sitting behind his desk, as always. He was hunched forward, white shirtsleeves rolled up, and the eerie bluish cast from one of his computer monitors bathed his features in its pale glow. The only other light came from a low desk light. Even so, she could see the way her father was working his jaw, and the intent frown that drew his dark eyebrows together. He seemed totally involved in what he was reading on the screen, and she thought he didn’t know she was there. Then he released a low hiss of air and slowly swiveled his chair toward her.

  He was absolutely still for a moment, and then he stood awkwardly as if his legs were stiff. Without a word, he crossed the room to meet her near the open door. She took a shaky breath as he came closer, inhaling the mingled scents of the fire blazing in the fireplace and the hint of pine in the air.

  A two-foot-tall live Christmas tree stood by one of the windows against burgundy velvet drapes that had never been closed until recently. The tree looked pathetic. It made her wish she hadn’t insisted on getting it. She foolishly had thought that it would help them to not totally ignore Christmas this year. But since it was the only Christmas decoration in the house, its puny presence only magnified how far they’d fallen from a normal life.

  “Faith,” her father said in a quiet voice as he caught her in a hug that was so tight she could barely take a breath. But she savored it, storing it up in her memory to grab when she would need it. He finally released her, smiling at her, but the expression didn’t reach his intent blue eyes. “I didn’t think you were going to come back here for a while.”

  At five feet ten inches, he wasn’t an unusually tall man and his frame had always been trim from playing squash or from running. But to Faith he had always seemed like a giant. After her mother had died when Faith was four, he’d been her security, a man who could fix her world with the wave of a hand; her rock, the one person she trusted completely; and most of all, her dad.

  Now that was all changing before her eyes. He was diminishing, as if the pressures of his life over the past four months were crushing him downward slowly and painfully. His once lightly graying hair was just as thick, but the color was now pure white. The lines etching his eyes and mouth had deepened considerably, and any tan he’d had, had faded away, leaving his skin almost ashen.

  Faith had never doubted that her father could conquer the world, yet here he was fighting for his life. She felt that sense of loss completely and refused to make things worse for him.

  She skimmed off her woolen cap. “Those vultures out front are not as good as they think they are,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “And neither is that guard. I went right past all of them, even one of the protesters, and none of them even blinked.”

  Any trace of a smile on her dad’s face was gone as he uttered, “You cut your hair.” He turned away from her and went to his desk. He dropped heavily into his leather chair and swiveled back and forth until his gaze met hers. She could see pain and sadness in his expression and it was almost her undoing. “Did you get subpoenaed?” he asked flatly.

  “No, I haven’t.” She claimed a leather chair across from him. “I haven’t heard anything, but Baron is on his way over here,” she said quickly. “I would have called to let you know, but...” She shrugged nervously as she tugged off her gloves and pushed them into her jacket pockets. Baron Little, the head of her father’s legal team, had insisted on meeting with her, and she thought she knew why. What he had to say probably wasn’t good. “I was afraid someone might be listening.”

  “Everything here was swept this morning. It’s clean, at least for now.” His eyes narrowed on her hair. “You haven’t had short hair since you were a year old, and suddenly...”

  She had thought she’d never do more than trim her hair, but that had changed. “I wanted to fool all of them, and I did.” She motioned to the tall windows covered by the heavy drapes. “I wanted to be here with you when Baron told me what was happening.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “You haven’t heard from him about the subpoena, have you?”

  He sat forward so abruptly that some papers skittered off the desk and settled on the thick Turkish rug. “No, but the grand jury is being impanelled. Got word yesterday about that. They’re going to file charges. It’s a given.” He raked his thick hair with his fingers. “They have to.”

  Faith couldn’t even swallow, her throat was so tight. “Maybe they won’t,” she offered up, but knew she was being delusional.

  “They will,” he said with resignation, “but I won’t let them pull you any more deeply into this. Besides, you can’t tell them anything they don’t already know.” He spoke evenly, and she knew that he believed that. “What would they gain, really?”

  She wanted to point out that she had been and still was in the middle of things since that awful day four months ago. Federal agents had swarmed LSC Investments, where her father had worked for over twenty years and had been a full partner for all but four of those years. That day everything had changed.

  She’d been in her glass-walled office talking to a prospective client about investments when she’d heard the loud voices and confusion in the main area. Then an assistant marshal had been at her door, telling her to step away from her desk. She’d been among the group of employees to be escorted off the premises, forced to leave everything behind. Her father and the other partners hadn’t been so fortunate. She hadn’t seen her father again for almost twenty-four hours. The Feds had confiscated everything to do with the business, from client files, computers, logs, employee workups and all banking information, both domestic and foreign.

  Now, after four torturous months, there was going to be a decision about what charges would be filed against the partners, two of the company’s financial officers and seven other employees. A bad dream had irrevocably turned into a nightmare. Her world and her father’s were taken over by lawyers and bail and affidavits and depositions, and her father was central to it all.

  Accusations of mishandling clients’ money, obstructing justice and fraudulent practices came down like a stinging hailstorm. And even with one of the best legal teams in the country working to prove her father’s innocence, she had watched him sink deeper and deeper into the abyss.

  She swallowed hard, hoping her face didn’t give away her sickening fear. He still didn’t know what she knew. She found she couldn’t tell him. And now... A week ago, Baron Little had mentioned that her name was being bandied about to receive a subpoena to testify in front of the grand jury. That had come out of the blue for her, shattering a
ny hope she had of being able to avoid that very thing.

  She couldn’t tell the attorney anything, not when she couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t have to reveal what she knew to the prosecution. She wasn’t about to tell anyone about eight months ago when she’d gone to her father’s office to find out when he could leave for home. A simple thing.

  Even when she’d arrived outside his office and heard the raised voices of two of the partners, she hadn’t thought much of it. They’d had disagreements over the years. She’d been ready to turn around and just go home on her own, but she stopped when she heard Winston Linz, a founder in the company, speak harshly to her father. “You’re not simon-pure, Ray. None of us are. You’re in this with us, and it’s working. Leave it alone. The commission from this deal will be enough for all of us to retire on someday.”

  Her father’s voice had come back with burning anger in it. “Don’t you threaten me, Win. Don’t you even try!”

  “Works both ways. If all you’ve done comes out, you’re dead in the water. So do what you have to do and make it happen, or—”

  “Or?” her father demanded.

  “Or it’s over, at least for you.”

  She heard another voice talking about an account of a client she had never heard of before, Kenner Associates. It sounded as if the man was reading from a file about a new investment account. He finished with “They want it done. They want it finalized and they do not want anyone screwing it up.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Ray,” Linz said bluntly.

  All of them were silent for a long moment, then her father spoke again in a tone that sounded calm, but Faith knew otherwise. “It will be finished. I will make sure of it personally with Mason. I’ll sew it up.”

  She’d walked away, not understanding and not asking anyone about it, not even her father when he eventually got home that evening. Even though they worked in the same company, doing the same things, hers less important than his, they both took care of their own business. He never questioned her about any of her clients. She would never question him about his dealings. And it was forgotten until the world exploded and that same client, Kenner Associates, came up again.