Mission: hidden identity
Big city detective Ethan Reed is working deep undercover at a Christian youth detention center. The kind of place he spent some harrowing time in as a kid. Ethan’s mission: ferret out who’s recruiting resident teens for a drug ring. He expects help from the lovely, devoted director of Hope Manor. But Kim Corbett won’t tell Ethan anything—even when she’s threatened and attacked. When Ethan discovers what Kim is protecting, his guarded heart opens just a bit wider. Enough to make this the most dangerous assignment of his career.
“You were going to talk to a guy who ran you down in broad daylight? What were you thinking?”
Kim’s expression hardened. “I was thinking about the damage that rumors of a hit-and-run by a former resident would do to the manor. I don’t expect you to understand, Ethan. You’ve only been here a day. You couldn’t possibly care about the manor’s survival the way I do.”
The woman was as loyal and compassionate as they came. How could he have suspected her of trying to protect a drug dealer?
“I’m sorry, Kim. I was out of line. Believe me, I want to help you.” More importantly, he wanted to get her out of here before the police connected her—or him—to the shooting. The last thing he needed was a cop unraveling his cover. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
In the meantime, he needed descriptions of the kids vandalizing Kim’s car, because chances were good one of them had shot Blake, or had seen who did. And Ethan needed to talk to them before the wrong cop got to them. Or Kim.
Witnesses in this case had a bad habit of showing up dead.
Books by Sandra Orchard
Love Inspired Suspense
*Deep Cover
*Shades of Truth
*Undercover Cops
SANDRA ORCHARD
lives in rural Ontario with her real-life hero husband, two of their three children, and a young husky with a fetish for rubber boots and remote controls.
Although Sandra taught high school math before starting her family, her childhood dream of becoming a writer never strayed far from her thoughts. She dabbled in writing how-to articles and book reviews, but for many years, needlecrafts, painting and reno-vating a century-old farmhouse satisfied her creative appetite.
Then she discovered the world of inspirational fiction, and her writing took on new direction.
In 2009, she won the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense, and the following year, on her “graduation day” as a home-educator (i.e. her youngest daughter’s first day of college), Sandra learned that Love Inspired Books wanted to publish her first novel. And so her Undercover Cops series began.
Sandra loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website, www.SandraOrchard.com, or c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Sandra Orchard
Shades of Truth
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.
—Isaiah 65:17
To Kate Weichelt, story doctor extraordinaire and a real-life heroine, who lost her 20+ year battle with cancer this past summer.
She remains a true inspiration to all who knew her.
Thanks to
My husband, Michael, for his unwavering support and encouragement. And to my children.
You’re the best!
To Beth Fahnestock, the inspiration for my heroine’s career and the untiring answerer of all my job-related questions.
To my critiquers and brainstorming buddies, Kate Weichelt, Vicki Talley McCollum, Wenda Dottridge and Laurie Benner for their encouragement and invaluable suggestions.
To my prayer warriors, Angie Breidenbach, Lisa Jamieson and Patti Jo Moore.
And most importantly, thanks to my Lord Jesus
for the greatest love of all.
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
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
ONE
Taking this undercover assignment in Miller’s Bay, Ontario, was a bad idea. Too many reminders of his own screwed-up youth.
Ethan Reed trailed Darryl Corbett, the son of the detention facility’s founder, into the yard full of teenage boys. The mixed teams of staff and residents on the baseball field underscored the center’s buddylike approach to rehabilitation, but the barbed-wire perimeter glinting in the summer sun hammered home the reality.
While Darryl itemized the characteristics that set Hope Manor apart from government-run facilities, Ethan’s thoughts drifted to the reason for his secret recruitment from outside the Canadian border town’s tight-knit police force. Whoever was luring residents into becoming drug pushers had inside connections. Inside the manor. And inside the police force.
At first glance the youths looked like average kids in their saggy pants and oversize T-shirts, minus iPods dangling from their ears and ball caps askew on their heads. But Ethan didn’t miss the hand signals gang members flashed when they thought no one was watching, or the scars on their faces from fighting, or the burns on their skin from initiations.
The facility forbade wearing gang colors, but restrained rivalry was evident in their defiant swaggers and icy stare downs. They tried to look tough, but most of them were cowards who saw nothing wrong with three guys swarming a lone stray, like a pack of wolves circling their dinner.
A foul ball bounced in front of Darryl, who tossed it to the kid on the pitcher’s mound. “Basically, you’re expected to engage the residents in whatever activities interest them. If you’re any good at coaxing them to open up to you and talk out their problems, all the better.”
Ethan grunted. He’d better be good at getting the boys to talk, because whoever was recruiting these kids had neglected to mention short life expectancy in the job description.
An engine’s roar ricocheted off the brick building. Then a scream—urgent, terrified and female—pierced the air.
Ethan’s attention snapped to the perimeter, but a wall of pine trees blocked his view.
“That sounded like Kim,” Darryl said. “My sister.”
Ethan sprinted for the gate and yanked on the lock. “You got a key?”
“No!” Darryl raced for the building.
Ethan pictured the maze of locked corridors between them and the front exit and dug his fingers into the chain link. “I’ll meet you out front.” He bolted up the fifteen-foot fence, crushed the slanted barbed wire in his fist and vaulted over the top. Pine needles scratched his arms and face on the way down. He crashed through the trees, cresting the hill in three seconds flat. Not quickly enough to ID the vehicle squealing away. But soon enough to glimpse the blip of its single brake light rounding the corner. A few strides further, he spotted a woman wearing shorts and a sky-blue jogging tank crumpled in the ditch. Her muddied running shoe lay inches from a tire track carved in the dirt.
He skidded d
own the grassy embankment still slick from last night’s storm. A hit-and-run outside his newest undercover gig. Coincidence?
Not if Chief Hanson was right and there was a dirty cop taking bribes to sabotage the investigation. A cop that had somehow found out about Ethan’s mission.
Hitting level ground, Ethan broke into a sprint and grabbed for his phone.
Argh! He didn’t have it. A security risk, Darryl had said. A resident might swipe it. Ethan’s gaze shot to the driveway. Where was Darryl? They needed to call an ambulance.
Long chestnut hair hid the woman’s face, and the image of another jogger slammed into his thoughts. Fifteen years later and he could still picture her broken body. Blocking out the memory, he dropped to his knees at the victim’s side.
She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, in remarkable shape, but breathing way too fast and shallow.
“Miss, can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t move.
And the sight of her motionless body—too much like Joy’s—had a stranglehold on his gut. “Miss,” he repeated, more urgently this time. “Can you hear me?”
She fixed him with a startled gaze—luminous, rich green and so undeniably alive it kick-started his heart and sent it hurtling into overdrive.
Kim Corbett squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them, but the dark-haired stranger with the shaky voice didn’t evaporate. His muscular build blotted out the sun, washing him in a halo of light. Kim blinked again, this time noting the rapid rise and fall of the man’s chest, the bunched neck muscles that signaled a readiness to explode into action and, most surprising of all, the look of terror in his dark eyes.
She averted her gaze, swallowed the coppery taste coating her mouth. Ditch water seeped through her shirt and her ankle screamed, but she didn’t feel too bad. Although, given this guy’s worried scrutiny, she must look a mess. She swiped at her mud-streaked hair. “Who are you?”
“Ethan Reed, Hope Manor’s new youth-care worker,” he said, and the unexpected hitch in his rumbly voice sent a tingle racing up her spine.
Darryl staggered into her peripheral vision. “You okay?” he asked between gulps of air.
Embarrassed by the fuss she’d caused, she struggled to push onto her elbows.
“Don’t move.” The man—Ethan—clamped his hands at the base of her skull, rendering her immobile.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“You could have a spinal injury.”
“My shift starts in ten minutes. I need to punch in.”
“You need to stay still until the paramedics get here.”
“Paramedics?” Kim tried to squirm free of Ethan’s hold. If he called for paramedics, the police wouldn’t be far behind. They’d ask her if she’d recognized the car, the driver. And if they figured out that an ex-resident almost ran her down, it would be the final nail in Hope Manor’s coffin.
She couldn’t let that happen. Not after Dad had poured his life into this place. “I don’t need a paramedic,” she protested, but the more she wriggled, the firmer Ethan held her, his hands astonishingly gentle for being so strong.
“Trust me,” he said with a gravity that made her stop struggling. “You can never be too careful. What were you doing out here, anyway?”
“I always jog to work when the weather’s nice.”
The color drained from Darryl’s face. “Your neck’s bleeding.”
“It is?” She reached up to find the source, and Ethan caught her pinky between his first two fingers.
“No,” he said, halting her probing with a quick squeeze of his fingers. “It’s my hand.”
Ignoring the jolt of his touch, she tugged back her hand. “You’re bleeding?” she squeaked, and tried again to sit up.
“It’s nothing,” he said, continuing to brace her neck with that infernally stubborn grip.
“Nothing?” Darryl gaped at Ethan with something akin to awe. “It’s a wonder the barbed wire didn’t tear your arms to shreds. You’re crazy, man. I don’t know how you climbed that fence. Everyone’s gonna try it now.”
Kim gaped. “You climbed the fence?”
Ethan actually blushed, but his eyes never left her face. “Darryl, did you tell someone to call 9-1-1?”
“No, I—”
“The car didn’t touch me,” Kim said, quickly. “I dove clear when I saw it coming. I’m okay, really.”
She’d be even better if they’d just forget the whole thing.
“Humor me until the paramedics get here, okay?”
She took a deep breath, hoping the scent of fresh-mown hay would calm her rattled nerves, but only succeeded in drawing in the musky scent of the man cradling her neck.
His thumb traced the scar along her jaw. And a tiny frown tugged at his lips.
It didn’t help that his chocolate-brown eyes radiated protective concern. It was enough to make a girl forget the ache in her ankle, to forget the fear that had flung her into a ditch, even to forget that she was much too busy saving Hope Manor to let her heart flutter over some ruggedly good-looking guy with a surplus of knightlike qualities.
Except, she couldn’t forget. The upsurge in drug-related incidents around Miller’s Bay had only fueled the lobbying efforts of the people determined to shut down the center.
Instead of running in to call an ambulance, Darryl hunkered down beside her. “Did you see who did this to you?”
“It all happened so fast.” She shrank from the memory of the white sports car barreling across the asphalt. No matter how the incident had looked, Blake wouldn’t have targeted her deliberately. Never. Why would he want to hurt her?
No reason. None at all.
“You must’ve seen something,” Darryl pressed. “The kind of car? Color?”
Kim glanced nervously at Ethan. “Um, white, I think.” She pursed her lips and gave her brother a silent don’t-ask-any-more-questions glare, followed by a surreptitious head tilt toward the manor. She grappled to find the newspaper she’d been carrying. One look at the headline and Darryl would guess why she couldn’t say anything in front of Ethan.
“I know you’re scared,” Ethan soothed, apparently misreading her jerky movements, “but every detail you can remember will help the police find this guy. Did you see if the driver was male or female?”
“Male,” she said reluctantly. “But I’m sure he didn’t see me. He was probably fiddling with his radio. He wouldn’t have expected to pass a pedestrian on these back roads.”
“You’re defending him? He sent you flying into a ditch and didn’t even stop to make sure you were okay.”
Her cheeks heated at the intensity of Ethan’s disapproval. “I’m sure if he’d realized, he would’ve stopped. No need to make a big deal about this.” The slightest negative publicity at this point would destroy any hope of convincing the province to reverse its funding decision.
Ethan’s eyes sparked. “What about next time?”
“Next time?”
“Yes. The next time this maniac races down the street, he could send a helpless kid flying into the ditch.” Something indefinable flickered across Ethan’s face. “And that kid may not be as lucky.”
Kim’s mouth went dry. Too stunned to respond, she could only stare at him. Was she endangering others by protecting Blake?
Surely not. Whereas the manor’s closure might.
Ethan’s tone gentled. “What are you afraid of, Kim?”
The low, intimate pitch of his voice trembled through her, warm and soothing, entreating her to trust him. But too much was at stake. She couldn’t let him involve the police.
“I’m not afraid. I just overreacted. I told you, I probably scared the driver more than myself.” She twisted sideways, forcing Ethan to loose
n his hold. Stones dug into her palms as she scrambled to her feet. Her ankle faltered under her weight, but she stood firm. “I’m fine. See?” She bit the words out through clenched teeth.
“Nevertheless,” he said, all traces of warmth gone, “we’ll call the police. You may not have seen anything, but I did.”
The jump of Kim’s pulse at her throat confirmed Ethan’s suspicion. She was hiding something. The driver ran her down in broad daylight. An innocent victim would be demanding justice. Never mind that the only information he had for the police was that the culprit’s car had a broken taillight. Kim clearly didn’t want them to catch the guy.
Something inside Ethan shifted at the obvious implications.
He blew out a breath. When Kim had first opened her eyes, the mix of fear and determination swirling in her gaze had tugged at him in an elemental way he found hard to ignore. But he had a job to do, and the fastest way to deep-six his objectivity was to start caring about the suspects.
Of course, even if Kim weren’t a suspect, he’d keep his distance.
She deserved better than the likes of him. His own parents had disowned him after his reckless-driving charge. And his ex-girlfriend had cured him of any illusions that anyone else would ever want him.
Kim shoved her hands into the soggy pockets of her shorts. “I don’t see what the police can do. The car didn’t hit me.”
“So you said.” Based on the background checks he’d done, Kim Corbett—daughter of the detention facility’s founder, vocal supporter of the facility’s mission to rehabilitate young offenders and faithful member of Miller’s Bay Community Church—was the last employee of Hope Manor he imagined likely of luring residents into the drug trade.
“What would they arrest him for?” Kim persisted. “Scaring the daylights out of me?”
“How about reckless driving?”
Ethan didn’t miss the way Kim’s jaw clenched at the suggestion. The only plausible reason she’d cover for the jerk was if she had something bigger to lose.
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