“No problem.” Ginny’s speculative gaze shifted to Ethan. “You must be the new guy who came to Kim’s rescue.”
“The name’s Ethan.” He extended his hand, and Ginny gave it a hearty workout.
Kim hid a smile. Her friend held to the theory that you could tell a lot about a person from their handshake. A limp one was a particularly bad sign, but from the approving grin Ginny shot her, Ethan must’ve passed muster.
“Have you been in town long, Ethan?” Ginny asked.
“Since last weekend. I moved down from Toronto.” Ethan opened the passenger door.
As Kim stepped past him, trying to ignore the rock-solid build that had vaulted a fifteen-foot fence to dash to her rescue, she felt that familiar rush of new-crush excitement.
“Did you work at a detention center in Toronto before this?” Ginny asked.
“Nope. I was a police officer.”
Kim’s heart hiccupped. “A police officer? And you quit? What happened?”
His shrug was nonchalant, but the flush inching up his neck suggested he felt anything but. “I was looking for a change. Tired of the big city.”
“Ignore her,” Ginny said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “She has this thing for guys in uniform.”
“Me? You’re the one who married a cop.”
Ethan flashed them an amused grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I think that’s my cue to get back to work. Now, make sure you stay off that foot,” he reminded before closing the car door. Despite the ninety-degree heat, he waited at the curb until they drove away.
“He seems nice,” Ginny said.
Kim smothered a bubbly squeal. “You should’ve seen the way he took charge when he found me in the ditch. He was so afraid I’d broken my neck that he wouldn’t let me move.”
“A man who can keep you down? Wow, that’s a first.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Kim propped her foot on the dash and examined her ankle.
Ginny glanced from the road to Kim. “You like him.”
Kim tried not to squirm. “Sure, he’s nice,” she said, and not wanting to admit to anything more, quickly added, “I wonder why he quit police work.”
“He told you.”
“Not really. He could’ve gotten a job on a small-town police force if he just wanted out of the big city. I think something bad must’ve happened to him.”
“Of course you do,” Ginny said in her indulgent, eye-roll voice.
“I’m serious. Maybe he got shot. Or maybe he shot someone and couldn’t cope with the emotional fallout.”
“Or…” Ginny said, stretching out the word for effect. “Maybe he wants a quieter life away from the big city and nosy females.”
Kim poked out her tongue. “Your marrying a cop has taken all the fun out of our guy talks. You do know that?”
“You’re interested in this guy?” Ginny’s gaze flicked from the road to Kim. “I thought you were dating Aaron. Which is a wonder in itself considering that since Nate, you haven’t dated anyone for longer than two weeks.”
Heat blazed through Kim’s chest and flamed into her face, the flare instant and embarrassing. She dropped her foot to the floor with a thunk, cranked up the air-conditioning. “Nate who? I never dated anyone named Nate. Oh…” She covered a mocking gasp. “You mean that guy who courted me for eight months and then married my college roommate?”
Ginny’s voice softened. “Kim, don’t. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“Who’s pretending? I dated Zach for four weeks. That’s a lot longer than two. And Aaron is just a friend.”
His touch sure didn’t zing up her arms the way Ethan’s had.
“And if this Ethan asks you out, you’ll keep him around for what, six weeks? And then what, Kim?” Ginny’s eyes hardened with determination. “You can’t keep punishing yourself, and other men, because of Nate.”
“I’m not.” Kim shifted her attention to a passing truck. “I just don’t have time to date.”
Ginny’s voice sobered. “I guess you saw today’s paper.”
“Yeah, but I hope Dad didn’t.” The possibility tied her in knots. “If the cancer weren’t already killing him, today’s headline would.”
Ginny turned onto Kim’s street. The yards, normally filled with laughing children, lay as desolate in the sweltering heat as her family home had felt since she’d moved back to help care for Dad.
“I hate to bring this up on top of everything else going on right now,” Ginny said. “But the youth pastor was hoping you could give another talk about the dangers of drug use, maybe talk about what it’s like for the kids at Hope Manor. Give them a picture of where a little ‘innocent’ fun can lead. He’s worried about one girl in particular, but doesn’t want to single her out in case he’s wrong.” Ginny parked in the driveway. “And from what Rick tells me about the recent rise in drug-related crimes, all the kids need to be warned.”
“Your hubby’s right. They do. I’d be happy to speak to the group.”
A new fear pinched Kim’s throat. What if Blake was high when he gunned his car at her?
If he was using again, he might not respond well to being confronted. But she couldn’t pretend the incident never happened. If he’d merely been distracted, she’d warn him to be more careful. If he was using…
Her finger strayed to the scar under her jaw, courtesy of the last drug user she’d tried to reason with. She’d met the kid while he was doing a stint at the manor. He’d been a good kid, considering. When she’d happened upon him a year later smoking crack in an empty picnic pavilion at Harbor Park, the red gang bandanna around his arm should’ve clued her in to how much he’d changed. She hadn’t noticed his knife until he rounded the table, enraged by her audacity to tell him he was screwing up his life. He’d grabbed her hair and scraped the blade across her throat.
An icy chill shivered down her spine.
Stop it. Nothing was going to happen. She yanked an elastic from the pocket of her shorts and wound her hair into a tight bun, just in case. Maybe she should ask someone to go with her.
She glanced at Ginny.
No, she could no more confide in her wife-of-a-cop friend than in her overprotective Good Samaritan. Ginny would try to talk her out of it, and then she’d sic her hubby on Blake. And as much as Kim trusted Rick’s discretion, she couldn’t risk talk that would further blacken the manor’s reputation. She swallowed, and dread sank like a stone to the pit of her stomach.
She had no choice. She’d face Blake alone.
THREE
Never more relieved to see a shift end, Ethan grabbed his cell phone and wallet from his locker and headed for the car. The muggy air sat heavy in his chest, kind of like his day.
Being here had scraped open so many memories he felt raw.
He’d done his job—acquainted himself with the facility and their procedures, introduced himself to the daytime staff and met the residents. But he’d struggled to stay focused. The incident involving Kim presented the most promising lead, and all he’d wanted to do was follow up on it.
Reaching his car, he pulled out his phone to check the internet for her address. As the info came up, Aaron Sheppard exited the building, phone pressed to his ear.
Head down, Aaron strode toward the parking lot, talking intently.
Ethan hoped Aaron wasn’t solidifying plans to get together with Kim, because Ethan planned to stop by her place on the pretense of checking on her ankle. And he didn’t want the other man in the way, especially since he didn’t intend to leave until he figured out what she was hiding.
He opened his car door to a blast of heat that tripled the sweat sluicing down his neck. The A/C in the cheap apartment he’d rented on the east side of town had better work
better tonight than it had last night or he could forget about getting any sleep. Once he wrapped up this case, he’d work on finding a house with central air, a decent yard. Maybe adopt a dog.
Two cars over, Aaron revved the engine of his green Mini Cooper and slammed down his phone. A moment later, he roared out of the parking lot, tires squealing.
Curious about what got him so riled, Ethan shoved his stick shift into First and followed.
Aaron hit Lakeshore Road and turned east toward Harbor Park. Ethan hung back so as not to be spotted.
The car circled the packed parking lot and squeezed into a space only a Mini Cooper would fit into. Ethan pulled up onto the grass three rows over.
The air smelled of heated sand and coconut oil. Sunbathers crammed the beach. Squealing children romped in the cool Lake Erie water.
Aaron shaded his eyes and scanned the crowds. He headed for a spreading maple where a group of young people huddled around a picnic table.
Ethan shed his shirt to blend in with the beachgoers and moseyed to a nearby bench.
A blonde, no more than fifteen, pushed a paper bag across the table to Aaron.
The scene had drug deal written all over it. Except the girl didn’t have the cocky attitude of an experienced seller. Her hands trembled and her gaze never lifted past the middle of Aaron’s chest.
Aaron peeked inside the bag, his expression neutral. Then he scrunched the top of the bag in his fist and said something Ethan couldn’t make out.
Ethan pulled out his cell phone and, pretending to search for a signal, snapped pictures of the three girls and two guys hanging on to Aaron’s every word. Everyone appeared more relaxed now that the exchange had been made.
People usually didn’t hang around to talk after a drug buy. So what was in the bag?
The teens moved toward the pier, and Aaron headed back to the parking lot. But he walked past his car.
Ethan maneuvered through the playground, keeping Aaron in his sights.
Aaron crossed the sidewalk in front of the ice-cream shop, but instead of going inside, he skulked along the side of the building and slipped in behind.
Ethan snuck behind the neighboring building and scaled a stack of skids in time to glimpse Aaron toss the bag in a Dumpster.
A dead drop?
Ethan ducked before Aaron could spot him. He peered through the slatted fence separating the buildings.
Seagulls screeched overhead.
Ethan shrank into the shadows, but Aaron didn’t pay the noisy birds any attention. He brushed off his hands and sauntered back toward the parking lot.
As much as Ethan wanted to follow, he needed to see what was in that bag. He edged along the fence and scanned the area for signs of anyone who might be there to make the pickup. Whoever it was wouldn’t wait too long or he’d risk the bag getting buried.
The rear door of the ice cream shop opened and a teenage boy in a white apron and hairnet hauled out a trash bag. He set the bag on the cement stoop and pulled out a smoke.
Was this the pickup guy?
The kid lit up and started texting on his cell phone. Sweat glistened on his face, but that was as likely from the heat as nerves.
Ethan swiped his shirt over his own damp face, and then pulled the shirt back on.
The kid snapped shut his phone and ground his cigarette butt under his heel. As he reached for the door handle, he seemed to remember the trash bag. He opened the Dumpster and tossed in the bag without so much as glancing under the lid.
Ethan shifted his position for a better view and spotted Aaron’s Mini speeding off. If only he could be in two places at once…
Ethan forced himself to wait. Sweat trickled down his spine. Every muscle tensed, ready to spring into action.
Five minutes passed. But no one else appeared.
Ethan squeezed past a loose board on the fence and ran for the cover of the Dumpster. He waited another full minute, scanning for any sign he’d been spotted. Seeing none, he lifted the lid.
The putrid odor of marinating garbage knocked him back.
Holding his breath, he ignored the burn of the black metal against his palms, and crawled over the side of the bin.
Aaron’s bag sat perched on a bed of trash.
Ethan snatched it up, slammed down the lid and sucked in a breath. Crouching beside the bin, he checked again to ensure no one was looking, then opened the bag.
It held two packets of white powder.
Ethan stared at the packets in confusion. If the rendezvous back there was what it looked like, why’d Aaron toss the drugs?
Had the handoff been some kind of test?
Ethan mentally reviewed what he knew about the man. A degree in community justice. Nine years’ experience at the Hamilton youth detention center with an exemplary record. Although twice he’d applied to the police force and had been passed over.
On Mr. Corbett’s recommendation, Hope Manor’s board had hired Aaron as deputy director eight months ago. Now Mr. Corbett’s sudden turn for the worse had spring-boarded Aaron to the manor’s top position, surpassing not only senior employees, but the founder’s two children.
Not that Kim appeared to hold any resentment.
On the contrary, if Aaron’s “I’ll see her tonight” could be believed, Kim considered him a friend. Maybe more than a friend.
Ethan crushed the bag in his fist and hurried to his car. He needed to know what Kim knew about Aaron Sheppard.
The instant the front door closed, Kim bolted from the couch. She’d thought Ginny would never go home.
Kim grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. If she didn’t hurry, Darryl would catch her leaving. He’d be so livid, she’d never make it to Blake’s.
Working with the residents to help them reach for a better life was so much a part of who they were, she couldn’t understand why Darryl wasn’t as determined as her to safeguard Dad’s legacy.
Kim drove to the east side of town where Blake shared a row house with his older brother. The nearby candy factory was the sole remnant of the neighborhood’s economic glory days. And as she pulled onto their street, the sickeningly sweet scent of gumdrops hung so thick in the air she could taste it.
Dingy stucco houses squatted feet from the sidewalk, their porch roofs drooping over sagging front porches as if sinking into a drunken stupor.
The odd boarded-up window added to the effect. While duct tape crisscrossed others like slashes on a desperate teen’s wrists.
Driveways were conspicuously absent. Instead, scraggly hedges offered what meager privacy was to be had from encroaching neighbors.
Here and there a rusted-out pickup languished at the curb. The sole sign of prosperity until a gust of wind chased a crumpled fast-food bag up the street and into…Blake’s white sports car.
Kim’s heart jerked. No one in this end of town drove a car like that unless they were dealing drugs.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pulled to a stop. How had she thought she could do this?
She dropped her forehead to her hands and gave in to the shakes that had dogged her all day. Maybe Ethan was right. Maybe she should’ve called the police.
His troubled voice whispered through her mind. What are you afraid of, Kim?
She sucked in a breath. She wasn’t afraid. Not of anything Blake might do to her. Not really. She was well trained in self-defense. Not that she’d need to use it. She was here to talk.
Nothing more.
So why was she still trembling?
She pictured Dad lying in his hospital bed. She couldn’t fail him. She wouldn’t. Clasping her hands, she prayed the words she’d heard her father pray time and again. Lord, please let Blake see Your love in me.
Str
engthened by the prayer, Kim stepped out of the car and limped toward Blake’s house.
The ping of a stone drew her around. But no one was there. Not on the sidewalk. Not in the minuscule weed-infested yards. Not in…
She tried to peer through the windshields of the pickups parked along the street, and through the windows of the houses, but the reflections made seeing anything impossible.
Despite temperatures that could fry an egg, a shiver fingered the back of her neck. She told herself she was being paranoid.
Even so, she clawed her keys between the fingers of her right hand and palmed her cell phone in her left.
Shouting cut into her thoughts.
Her pulse quickened. The voice sounded like Darryl’s.
She traced the sound to an open window at the side of Blake’s house, well back from the street. She should’ve known Darryl intended to confront Blake himself when he agreed so easily not to involve the police.
She edged closer, staying out of sight of the window.
Blake said something she couldn’t make out, and Darryl exploded into a rage. “If I see you within a mile of my sister, you’ll be looking at the inside of a jail cell so fast your head’ll spin.”
Blake laughed. A scoffing, ugly sound. “I go down, you go down. You hear what I’m saying?”
Shock trapped Kim’s breath in her throat. What did Blake mean?
He couldn’t possibly have anything on her brother. Darryl might have his faults—like being overprotective—but he was as honest as they came.
Darryl never should’ve told Blake they were related. They always operated on a first-name basis with residents, precisely to avoid these kinds of threats. How many times had Dad drilled that into them?
She slumped against the wall, sending an empty beer can toppling from the window ledge to the cement slab below. She froze.
Shades of Truth Page 3
