“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.

SHADES

of TRUTH

SANDRA ORCHARD

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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.

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 down 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-anymore-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 loosen 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.

In the past year, the local cops had identified two former residents of Hope Manor as drug pushers. The pair negotiated a deal to give up the person who’d recruited them in return for a suspended sentence. But neither survived long enough to finger him. Somehow, someone got to them in the jail cell. Which meant whoever was behind the operation would stop at nothing to ensure his anonymity.

And maybe Kim knew it. Maybe this was a warning to keep her mouth shut, or else.

Ethan winced at the thought. Okay, so forget calling the police. He’d handle this himself.

Darryl nudged his sister to start walking. “Let’s get you ice for that ankle and into dry clothes before we worry about anything else.”

Despite her earlier bravado, Kim gingerly avoided putting her full weight on her left foot.

Thankful that at least she didn’t have a spinal injury, Ethan dragged in his first full breath since finding her sprawled in the ditch. He may have relinquished his hold on her, but the tension in his muscles took longer to let go. This guy had some sort of control over her, and if Ethan wanted to win her confidence enough to learn what it was, he might as well forget about keeping his distance.

The rustle of a dirt-smeared newspaper caught his attention. “Is this yours?” he called after Kim, and then stooped to retrieve the paper. The headline—Funding Cuts Threaten Detention Center’s Future—dominated the page.

The instant Darryl scanned the headline, his eyes darkened. “Please tell me you aren’t hatching another one of your schemes.” At Ethan’s raised eyebrow, Darryl explained. “Our dad founded this place, and as the oldest child, Kim seems to think she has a sacred duty to save it.”

Kim gasped. “How can you say that?”

Another reason crossed Ethan’s mind. Closing the manor would dry up a ready supply of eager recruits.

Kim met his gaze. “Is it so wrong to not want to see my father’s work lost?”

“No, I think it’s admirable.”

Kim shot her brother a smug grin.

Ethan chuckled at Darryl’s snort. Joining Kim’s cause might be the perfect opportunity to get closer to her and, more importantly, closer to the truth. He tucked the newspaper under his arm and fell into step beside her. “How do you plan to save Hope Manor from the chopping block?”

“I want to get a petition together to pressure the provincial government to reconsider,” Kim explained. “And I want to pitch an idea to the newspaper for a series on former residents who’ve made good. Once people see the impact we have, I’m sure they’ll support our petition.”

“You’ll only make the situation worse.” Darryl swiped his pass card over the lock to the staff entrance and opened the door. Chilled air spilled out, but the crisp blast did nothing to cool the heat in his voice. “Half the people in this town didn’t know there was a detention center here until you wrote that letter to the editor a few weeks back.”

Kim eased onto one of the benches lining the space between the walls of lockers and unlaced her shoe. “That’s why they need to hear its success stories.”

“Trust me. They don’t want to know that Miller’s Bay harbors young offenders. Involve the papers and it’s only a matter of time before the incident with Mitch gets out, too.”

“The Mitch I was hired to replace?” Ethan asked, surprised they’d managed to suppress the news this long in such a small town. The town’s size had been one of the reasons he’d been recruited for this assignment from outside the local force.

“Yeah,” Darryl said. “He got injured chasing a resident who ran off during a field trip.”

“Ouch, not the kind of news that will endear Hope Manor to the citizens of Miller’s Bay.”

Darryl shot his sister a look. “Exactly.”

“I won’t give up, Darryl. Dad poured his life into this place, because he believes in God’s forgiveness. These kids need to know that even if they repeatedly mess up, God will forgive them, too.”

Kim reminded him of Joy. Despite the pain he’d caused her, she’d offered him that kind of forgiveness. And because of her, he devoted his life to ridding the streets of people like the irresponsible teenager he’d been. While Kim worked to set them free.

What he needed to know was … did she work out of compassion, or to sideline in something more lucrative?

Because, if she was on the level, why had someone just tried to kill her?

TWO

“Change out of those wet clothes while I grab you an ice pack and find Ethan a bandage for his hand,” Kim’s brother said, unlocking the hall door.

Ethan gave the room one last surreptitious scan before stepping into the empty corridor. Aside from the feeling in his gut, he had little evidence the attack on Kim was deliberate, let alone connected to his case. But at least no one could get to her in the locked room.

The main floor of the facility was divided into three units that each housed ten residents and a staff station. Ethan turned left toward the closest. “I’d sure like to get my hands on whoever ran down your sister,” he said, hoping to loosen Darryl’s tongue.

Darryl caught him by the shoulder and swung him around. “Don’t even think about messing with my sister.”

Ethan whacked off the guy’s hold. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw the way you looked at her. You’re here to do a job. Not cozy up to Kim.”

Ethan backed up a step and lifted his hands in innocence. “Hey, I just want to catch the jerk who scared her.”

A door clicked and Darryl’s gaze snapped to the end of the hall.

The manor’s interim director, Aaron Sheppard, hurried toward them. Ethan fought not to gag at the overpowering scent of the thirty-year-old’s trendy cologne. Or maybe it was the smell of the gunk he used to make his hair poke out in that wannabe-actor look. His too blue eyes—had to be colored contacts—zeroed in on Darryl. “How’s Kim? I heard she had an accident.”

Darryl stopped the guy from pushing his way into the locker room. “She was jogging and twisted her ankle. She’ll be fine. Her ankle just needs a little icing.”

“But someone said—”

“She’s embarrassed enough,” Darryl interrupted, apparently more concerned about guarding his sister than ticking off his boss. “She doesn’t need people yakking about her.”

Aaron drew in a breath as if he intended to argue, but then his gaze shifted to Ethan. He thrust out his hand. “Ethan, right? Welcome aboard.”

Ethan matched his firm grip, noting the way Aaron’s gaze returned to the staff room door, and then to Darryl. Definitely another man worth grilling for information.

“Was there something else?” Darryl said.

“Yeah, you’ve got a phone message. Wanted you to call back ASAP.”

Worry replaced Darryl’s scowl. “The hospital?”

“Not sure. While you’re in the office, let the in-charge supervisor know that she needs to call someone to cover Kim’s shift.”

“Kim won’t like being sent home, but it’s probably not a bad idea. Could you show Ethan where he can get the ice?” Darryl’s gaze shifted to Ethan. “Then I’ll meet you back here to finish the orientation.”

After Darryl disappeared down the corridor, Ethan took advantage of the opportunity to ply Aaron for information. “Who’s in the hospital?”

“His dad. Cancer. Admitted on the weekend. The pain got to be too much. It’s only a matter of time now.” Aaron paused outside the door of unit one’s staff station. “I heard what you said about catching the guy who ran Kim down. So she didn’t just twist her ankle jogging?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you see the guy?”

“Unfortunately not. You got any idea who it might’ve been?”

“Some kid out bah-hawing, I expect.” Aaron’s lips pressed into a flat line as if he might have a particular kid in mind. He unlocked the door to the staff station—a glass-walled peninsula from which the entire unit could be viewed. Each unit consisted of a common room with a nailed-down sofa, TV and game tables, a washroom, a laundry room and a line of bedrooms, lockable only from the outside. The residents were in morning classes, so the unit was empty.

“You get a lot of kids from the area driving crazy on these back roads?”

“You know how it is. Boys will be boys.”

“Hmm.” Ethan found the first-aid kit and swabbed his palm with disinfectant.

Aaron pulled a bag of ice from a small fridge in the corner, and then waved to a plate of muffins on the desk. “Help yourself. Kim’s mom is always baking for the staff and residents. How she copes with stress, Mr. Corbett once told me.” Aaron rubbed his stomach. “I think we’ve all gained ten pounds since he took ill.” He handed Ethan the ice. “Here you go. Can you find your own way back?”

“Sure, but—” Ethan’s gaze flicked to the glass partition. His mind buzzed with possible reasons Aaron might want to hang back in an empty unit. None of them aboveboard. “Didn’t you want to see Kim?”

Aaron unlocked the door and motioned him to exit. “I’ll see her later, tonight.”

Ethan frowned. Not that who Kim saw in her free time was any of his business … unless the person was connected to his case, which Aaron very well could be. It was more believable than thinking Kim was on the wrong side of the law.

But before Ethan could ask another question, Aaron prodded him out the door. Definitely suspicious. Ethan hurried to the locker room. At least with Darryl fielding a phone call, he’d get his chance to question Kim alone.

Raised voices stopped his hand midknock. Two voices. One female—Kim’s. One male.

He strained to hear what they were saying, but the male voice dropped to an angry hiss.

“No—” Kim cried, and slamming of metal on metal swallowed the rest of her words.

Ethan twisted the knob uselessly and pounded the door. “Hey, open up.”

The door jerked open, and Kim’s brother stood on the other side, teeth gritted.

Because of the phone call? Or something else?

Ethan pushed his way inside, his gaze sweeping the room. “What’s going on?”

“I’m being sent home.” Kim hooked a padlock onto the door he’d heard slam, and then stalked to a wooden bench. She’d changed into a fresh green T-shirt that did amazing things for her eyes. Or maybe the disagreement with her brother had brought out those fiery flecks.

Darryl snatched up the ice bag and tossed it to Kim. “Now keep that foot elevated until Ginny gets here.” He ignored Kim’s long-suffering sigh. “Come on, Ethan. I’ll take you to admissions. We have a resident due back from court. I can show you how we process arrivals.”

Terrific. He’d have to bide his time until he got another chance to interrogate Kim.

A crackly voice shouted, “Yard. Now,” over Darryl’s walkie-talkie.

Kim scooped the ice bag off her foot. “Go ahead, Darryl. Ethan and I can handle the incoming.”

Ethan reached to help her up, but she brushed his hand aside, as if her injury was of no concern.

“When an incident with a resident escalates,” she explained, leading the way through the maze of corridors, “you shout now and your location into your walkie-talkie to summon help. It doesn’t happen that often, but between my taking up yours and Darryl’s time and Tony off, we’re a little short staffed.”

“Who’s Tony?”

“One of our full-timers. He called in sick just before his shift this morning.”

This morning, huh? Ethan made a mental note to look up Tony’s address and pay him a visit. Check out his taillights. “Has he worked here long?”

“Since the place opened.”

“That long? He must’ve been upset when the board hired a new guy as deputy director instead of promoting senior staff.” Maybe upset enough to look at making some money on the side with a homegrown drug ring.

She shrugged, but her puckered brow suggested the possibility bothered her. Or was it the manor’s uncertain future?

“Here we are.” She unlocked the admission room connected to a sally port—an entrance rigged to secure the outer door before the inner door opened.

The musty odor that seeped into the corridor resurrected memories he’d willed himself to forget. He braced his hands on the door frame, one foot bridging the threshold, the other cemented to the hall. He felt sixteen again, teetering on the edge of a sinkhole that threatened to swallow him from the inside out. The humiliation of being restrained. The loneliness as weeks passed without a visitor. The remorse that gnawed at him day and night.

“Ethan? Are you okay?”

Kim’s voice jerked him back to the present. “Yes.” He gave his head a hard shake. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Is it your hand?”

“What?” He pulled his hand from the door frame and looked at the bandage. Come to think of it, it was throbbing.

“Maybe you should have the nurse—”

“It’s fine.” He stepped into the room and moved toward the window overlooking the attached garage. If he expected to gain her trust, he needed to utilize every available minute, not fuss over a couple of puncture wounds.

“Sounds like my bigger concern should be how long my new job’s gonna be around.” He propped his hip on the side of the desk. “Maybe I should help you with your petition.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” The sun seemed to rise in her eyes, and Ethan regretted that his offer had more strings attached than a trussed-up turkey. “Although I am curious why your brother is opposed to the idea. Is that what had him so riled back there?”

Kim sank wearily into the chair. “I don’t know. He used to talk to me, but lately …” Her gaze shifted to the thick-paned window. “I guess we all deal with grief in our own way.”

“I heard your father has cancer, and that it’s bad. I’m sorry.” Hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck, Ethan reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Darryl will come around. You’ll see.” The slight relaxing of her muscles beneath his fingers left him fighting the temptation to let his hand linger. He took a step back. “So, who do we have coming in?”

“Um, I think it’s Mel.” She double-checked the sign-in book. “Yes, Melvin Reimer.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“He’s fifteen. A good kid, really. Comes from a stable family, but he had a hard time making friends at school.”

“Let me guess. He got sucked into a gang.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been urging him to get out.”

“The gang’s not going to let that happen.”

“It’s not their choice. It’s his. And he’s matured a lot in the months he’s been here, which is only one example of why it’s so important to do everything we can to make sure the government doesn’t shut us down.”

Ethan chose not to dispute the Pollyanna view. Her optimism was kind of refreshing. “Did Melvin have a parole hearing this morning?”

“No, a group conference between his family and the victim’s. This was a big step for him. He wanted the opportunity to apologize, ask for forgiveness and achieve some sort of reconciliation.”

“Wow, that takes guts.”

The rumble of the garage door rattled the windows. A police cruiser pulled inside. After the door closed behind the vehicle, the officer extracted a tall, lanky kid from the backseat, his hands and feet shackled.

Kim pushed to her feet, a proud smile curving her lips. “The kids call him Beanpole.”

“What’s he in for?”

She jabbed the button that opened the admission room door. “He got drunk, stole a car and smashed through a neighbor’s living-room window. Wounded their four-year-old daughter.”

Ethan swallowed the sour taste that rose to his throat as the kid shuffled across the cement, his head down. “Today’s meeting must’ve been tough for … everyone.”

“Yeah, but you know what they say. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“Like the car that almost took you out this morning?”

She waved off the question and turned to the kid coming through the door.

Ethan kneaded the tension at the back of his neck. His protective instincts had kicked into high gear the moment he’d heard her scream, and they hadn’t let up in the hour since. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a more stubborn woman. Some guy had tried to run her off the road, and she acted as though it was no big deal.

The question was, why? Because Ethan’s gut told him she couldn’t be more wrong.

At the sight of her friend Ginny pulling up to the curb, Kim walked out the staff exit, hyperaware of Ethan’s nearness. He was being so sweet—offering to help with her petition, sympathizing with Dad’s condition, seeing her to the car—that she didn’t know how to act. Was he interested in her?

Or was he just a supernice guy?

At least she managed not to limp. She’d probably break out in a silly grin if he actually offered her an arm to lean on. And the curious glint in Ginny’s eye didn’t help.

With how kind Ethan had been, Kim felt guilty for not admitting that she knew who almost ran her down. But Blake had spent sixteen months at Hope Manor. If the police hauled him in for dangerous driving, not only would the news fuel the arguments for shutting down the manor, the arrest would set him back years. And after the protective way Ethan had pounded on the locker room door when Darryl was yelling at her, she was pretty sure that if she told him about Blake, he would send the police to the guy’s doorstep before his name left her mouth.

It was bad enough she’d let Darryl needle the admission out of her. At least he’d agreed not to involve the police. Of course, his insistence that she take the day off still irked. The swelling in her ankle had almost disappeared. But at least this way she’d have the chance to deal with Blake sooner rather than later. “Thanks so much for coming to get me, Ginny,” she said as they neared the car.

“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.

Strengthened 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.

“What was that noise?” Blake demanded. Chair legs abruptly scraped the floor.

Kim sprang to her feet and sprinted toward the street. Her ankle screamed, but instinct propelled her. Never mind that Darryl would never let Blake hurt her.

The keys dug into her clenched fist. Her heart pounded in her ears. She heard a sound behind her. But she didn’t dare glance back.

She cleared the hedge bordering the yard and skidded to a stop.

Two grungy-looking punks were circling her car. Slowly. Deliberately. Peering in windows. Trying the doors. One of them—a pockmarked teen with jeans sagging to his knees—slapped a baseball bat against his palm, looking ready to take a swing at her windshield.

Icy fear shot through her veins. She backed up a step.

The second kid crouched next to her tires and pulled a knife from his pocket.

Behind her a door slammed. Darryl?

She opened her mouth to yell for help, but the word died in her throat. So far those punks hadn’t seen her. Better to keep it that way.

A truck roared to life.

“There she is,” the kid with the knife yelled.

Baseball Bat shot her a poisonous glare.

For an instant she froze, stunned by the seething hatred in his eyes. How did they know her? What did they want?

Too late she turned and cried out. Her brother was speeding away.

The punks chewed the distance between them.

She ducked behind the hedge and scrabbled down Blake’s side yard. Her ankle throbbed. Shallow breaths from her throat. She should have listened to Ethan.

Footfalls pounded behind her. Louder. Closer. Matching the frantic beat of her heart.

The instant she passed the house, Blake’s rear screen door slapped open. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Kim cut across a neighboring yard to the next street. Sweat dripped into her eyes, burning them. She couldn’t run much longer. Her gaze darted from side to side, desperately seeking a hiding place. The candy factory’s near-empty parking lot swam in her vision. “Help!” she screamed.

Fifty yards ahead of her a dark figure exploded from the bushes.

No. No. No! She veered left and raced across the deserted street. Her ankle turned on a pothole. Searing pain cut off her breath, hauling her to a stop.

A gunshot cracked the air.

Expecting to feel the sting of a bullet, she dove for the dirt. Her phone flew out of her grip, skidded across the scalding blacktop.

A merciless hand closed around her arm and yanked her to her feet.

Desperate to break free, she flailed her arms and drew breath to scream.

Her assailant slapped his palm over her mouth, pulled her head against his rock-hard chest. “Quiet,” he growled. He clamped his other arm around her middle, pinning her arms to her side, and dragged her into the overgrown bushes bordering the candy factory.

She fought for air, struggling all the harder against his iron grip.

Branches clawed at her hair. Thorny twigs scratched her face.

Suddenly, she remembered the keys spiked through her fingers, and speared them into his thigh.

He roared, but his grip didn’t slacken.

FOUR

Ethan bit back a curse as Kim’s foot glanced off his shin. He tightened his hold on her and peered through the trees. The gunshots had stopped. No sign of anyone looking for them. The chaotic pounding in his chest slowed a fraction.

“Kim, it’s Ethan. I won’t hurt you.” He turned her sideways, keeping his hold firm so she couldn’t bolt into the shooter’s sights.

The instant she saw his face the panic in her eyes flashed to relief, then white-hot anger. She lashed her arms free of his grip. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted his hands, palms out, to assure he meant no harm. “I live down the street, heard you scream.” Her cry had ripped through his chest like buckshot. He expected her to be falling apart, not taking a strip out of him. “When I saw you go down, my only thought was to get you to cover.”

Her gaze rested a moment on his bandaged left hand. Her rapid breathing began to slow. “You live in this neighborhood?” she said, her voice a mixture of surprise and repugnance.

Her tone, so similar to his ex-girlfriend’s after he’d told her about his stint in detention, made the back of his neck prickle. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his anger at her for putting herself in danger making the question sound harsher than he’d intended.

He’d driven by her house and found it empty. A neighbor said she was probably at the hospital with her dad. But deep down, he’d feared that whoever came after her this morning would try again.

“I caught a couple of kids vandalizing my car. What kind of stupid thrill is it to slash someone’s tires and smash their windshield? They won’t think it’s so fun when they wind up in jail. Let me tell you.”

He scraped a hand through his hair. Two attacks in one day couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone wanted her out. And he didn’t have a clue who. “What were you doing here in the first place?”

She averted her gaze the same way she had when she’d hedged his questions this morning.

How was he supposed to protect her if she didn’t tell him what was really going on?

“I came to visit a … friend.”

“Then why didn’t you run to her house?”

“They came at me so fast. I didn’t have time to think. I just ran.”

“Usually when kids are caught vandalizing property they scram. You didn’t recognize them?”

“No, but they seemed—” she hesitated, and at the raw fear in her eyes, his irritation over her secretiveness evaporated “—to know me. Or at least, that I owned the car.”

“They probably watched you park.” Not that it explained why they’d chase her, let alone shoot at her. What kind of “friend” was she here to visit?

Her face was white, her lips pinched tight, and from the way she shifted all her weight to her uninjured ankle she looked as though she was in serious pain.

He pointed to a rusty, overturned barrel behind her. “Sit for a minute.”

In the distance, sirens blared.

“Someone must’ve called in the gunshot.” He cocked his head. “Sounds like police and ambulance. Did you see who had the gun?”

“No. I didn’t see any gun. They were carrying a bat and knife.”

He looked around at the tattered houses with their boarded-up windows and curling shingles. Crushed beer cans littered dirt-patched yards. “Maybe the shot had nothing to do with you, then.” He hoped. Graffiti—sick slurs and even sicker images—defaced the factory wall. “This neighborhood attracts more than its share of crime.”

“You mean someone out there is taking potshots at people?”

He shrugged. “It happens.” He offered her a hand. “Come on.”

She hesitated a moment, and when she finally slipped her hand in his it felt oddly dainty. Dainty, yes, but when she leaned into his support and rose he could also feel the thread of steely determination that ran through her. The connection of their joined hands gave him a feeling of … rightness.

He ignored the irrational thought as she tested her injured ankle, resisting the urge to wrap his arm around her waist and carry her. “We’ll check over your car and give the police a description of the vandals,” he said brusquely. “Then you need to go home and rest.”

From the cover of the trees, Ethan scanned the vicinity for signs of the punks and squinted at every window for evidence of a sniper. Red-and-blue emergency lights from the next street strobed across the dead space between the houses. “If those punks have a brain in their heads, they’ll be long gone by now,” he said, sweeping the branches out of Kim’s way. “Can you manage with that foot?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” She took a step, barely concealing a wince. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You stay put and I’ll bring your car here. Where are you parked?”

“On the next street, but—” Her gaze darted from the factory to the row of run-down houses and back to him. She looked scared.

“Or we can cut through those yards.”

“That would be better.”

Supporting her weight as much as she’d allow, he forced himself to focus on helping her to her car, instead of the feel of her body leaning against his.

They crossed the street and shuffled down the alley between two houses. As they reached the backyards, Kim’s hand suddenly clenched. Her face went white.

Paramedics were loading a man onto a gurney. White gauze, stained red at the man’s temple, circled his head. A spent casing, flagged by police, lay in the dirt ten feet away.

“Looks like we’ve found the gunshot victim,” Ethan said. “At least this means the shot wasn’t intended for you.”

Kim made a choking sound. But something in her eyes said her shock wasn’t just over seeing a random shooting victim.

“You know that guy?” Ethan asked, a sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. “Was he the friend you came to visit?”

She stared at the medics pushing the gurney alongside the house to the street. “His name is Blake Owens. He used to be a resident at Hope Manor.”

“Do you know why someone might want him dead?”

Her head turned slowly from side to side, and then came to an abrupt stop.

“Kim?”

“No. I don’t know.” She swallowed. Hard. As if she was trying to dislodge the boulder-size lie.

He’d been a cop long enough to spot them. But this wasn’t the place to press her.

A police officer, winding crime-scene tape around the perimeter, glanced in their direction.

Ethan urged Kim to keep moving. He needed to find out what she was hiding before the police got ahold of her. They cut across the adjoining yard and slipped between the houses to the street. Police cruisers blocked both ends. Gawkers stood along the sidewalk. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

When Kim spotted the clutch of police officers questioning bystanders, she began to tremble.

But it was the sports car parked in front of the victim’s house that caught Ethan’s attention. Seeing no reason to sugarcoat the obvious, he said, “Blake was the friend you came to see. Wasn’t he?”

She stopped next to a silver Ford Escort with flat tires he presumed was hers. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it? So the treads of that white Camaro up there won’t match the tracks outside Hope Manor? Because in case you missed it, the back taillight is smashed.”

Kim sucked in a breath. “Okay, yes, I recognized Blake’s car this morning.”

“So why not report him?”

“Because he used to be a resident. Something like that would’ve lost him his parole. I thought I’d talk to him instead. But then those vandals came along before I got the chance.”

“You were going to talk to a guy who ran you down in broad daylight, and you’re calling me crazy? What were you thinking?”

Her 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. You’ve only been here a day. You couldn’t possibly care about the manor’s survival the way I do.”

He felt like dog meat. The woman was as loyal and compassionate as they came. How could he have suspected her of trying to protect a drug dealer?

He edged her out of view of the cops. The ambulance wailed to life, a glaring reminder of the danger she was in. He had a bad feeling that someone didn’t want Blake to talk to her. And with a bullet in his head, the kid wasn’t going to give Ethan an explanation anytime soon.

“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.

“Come on.” He nudged her toward the house that backed onto his. “I’ll drive you home.”

“What about the vandals? The police will want their description.”

Ethan held her in place. The last thing he needed was a cop unraveling his cover. So far, other than the officer on the perimeter tape, no one had paid them any attention. “Since you’re parked nearby, the police will record your license plate, and stop by your house in due course.”

“But if I leave without talking to them, won’t that make them suspicious?”

“Not once they see the condition of your ankle.”

In the meantime, he needed descriptions of the punks, because chances were good one of them shot Blake, or saw who did. And Ethan needed to talk to them before the wrong cop got to them. Or to Kim.

Witnesses in this case had a bad habit of showing up dead.

A news truck squealed around the corner and stopped at the end of the street.

Great, just what she’d hoped to avoid by not reporting Blake in the first place.

Ethan tilted his head, and waited for her to meet his gaze. “Let me drive you home?”

The compassion in his eyes tugged at her heart. Twice in one day he’d come to her rescue. Why not make it three?

“Okay.”

He deftly skirted her around the officers canvassing the neighborhood and the reporter charging toward the scene, and led her back the way they’d come.

What would the police think if they found out she’d fled?

Then again, if she admitted why she was in the area, some ambitious reporter was bound to find a nosy neighbor who’d identify Darryl’s truck as being here, too. He’d squealed away minutes before the shot was fired. But people’s memories had a bad habit of getting those kinds of important details confused. Or they’d theorize he snuck back. She could see the headline now—Former Hope Manor Resident Shot By Founder’s Son.

Everyone who knew Darryl knew how protective he’d become of her since Nate had stomped all over her heart.

She misstepped, turning her ankle on the uneven pavement.

Ethan’s strong arm circled her waist, unleashing a flurry of butterflies that made her feel as if she’d tumbled into the middle of a Jane Austen romance novel. She allowed herself to lean on him, borrow the strength and protection he offered. Just for a little while.

He was so different from Nate. Ethan took immediate, confident action, where Nate was indecisive and slow to respond.

A pang of guilt squeezed her chest. She wasn’t being completely honest with Ethan.

He steered her between two houses, practically carrying her to spare her from putting too much weight on her ankle, and her guilt increased. Ethan had shown her nothing but kindness.

“The dark green Chev is mine,” he said.

“How soon do you think the police will come by my house?”

“Hard to say. Sometime tonight. Tomorrow at the latest, unless they get a solid lead.”

She shivered. If anyone had overheard Darryl threatening Blake, the police or reporters or both would dig up whatever incriminating information they could find on him—like that he’d been a regular at the gun club with his friend Frank. His friend who was now serving twenty years in a federal prison for manslaughter.

Oh, Lord, Darryl wouldn’t shoot a kid just because he drove a little recklessly. He wouldn’t. Please let Blake be okay. And please let the police track down the shooter quickly.

Ethan helped her into his car. The air inside was stifling. He cranked up the air-conditioning, and then glanced at the line of cars idling at the end of the street—employees from the candy factory, likely. “The police must be checking cars. Prop your injured foot on the dash. Let me do the talking.”

Was it just her guilty conscience that made Ethan sound as though they were fugitives?

A few minutes later, a police officer wearing those mirrored sunglasses, whose chief purpose had to be to intimidate the person staring into them, stepped up to their window. “License and registration, please.”

Ethan reached into the glove box, handed over his registration and then pulled his license from his wallet. “We heard a gunshot. Someone get hurt?”

The officer responded without emotion. “The victim’s in critical condition.”

Kim smothered a gasp.

Ethan shot her a silencing glare.

She buried her hands under her legs so the officer wouldn’t catch her wringing them. If the police connected her to the car near Blake’s house she’d look as suspicious as her brother. Maybe she should call Ginny and talk to her husband, Rick, about what happened. Reporting in, so to speak, before they came looking for her had to look better in the end. “My phone,” she blurted, remembering that she’d dropped it when the shot rang out.

Ethan’s silencing glare swept over her a second time.

“Why are you in the neighborhood?” the officer asked as he recorded the license information.

Ethan motioned to the row of duplexes. “I moved into 103, second floor apartment, on Saturday. Haven’t had time to change my license yet.”

“And the woman?”

“Kim Corbett.”

“Relationship?”

“A friend,” Ethan said, with a lilt that implied something more.

Kim’s heart gave a funny kick.

“She hurt her ankle,” Ethan explained. “I’m taking her to have it checked.”

The officer wrote down everything Ethan said, and then looked at her. “Address?”

“Two-thirteen Maple Crescent.”

His attention zeroed in on Ethan again. “Do you have any weapons in the vehicle?”

“No, sir.”

The officer opened Ethan’s door. “Could you step out of the car, please?”

Ethan turned off the ignition, his expression pained. “It’s okay,” he said to her before climbing out, but suddenly every warning her brother had ever voiced about her being too trusting screamed through her head.

She’d known this man less than twelve hours—twelve hours in which she’d been threatened twice. He lived in a seedy neighborhood and maybe carried a gun. And she’d just let him convince her to leave the scene of a crime!

If he was really an ex-cop like he said, why didn’t he tell this guy? Play up the professional courtesy card?

Or was that why he was playing it by the book, not making waves?

Too trusting! The voice in her head screamed.

The officer patted Ethan down, glanced at the interior of the car and then said, “Do you mind if I look in your trunk?”

“Not at all. I’ve got nothing to hide,” Ethan said easily, although Kim thought she glimpsed the muscle in his jaw flinch.

The officer riffled through the trunk, and then handed Ethan back his license and registration. “Thank you, sir. Have a good day.”

Kim closed her eyes and let the air seep from her chest. He didn’t have a gun. That was good, at least.

Ethan climbed in the car. “What were you saying about your phone?”

“I dropped it in the street.” She lowered her voice. “When I heard the shot.”

“Okay, we’ll go back and find it.” He rolled down the window again. “Officer, my friend dropped her phone. I need to turn around for a minute and see if we can find it.”

“Go ahead.” The officer backed up a few steps so Ethan had room to turn on the narrow street.

Kim pointed to a pothole a few yards past the factory’s entrance. “I stumbled up there.”

Ethan parked, then scouted the area in ever-widening sweeps. After what felt like hours, he returned, frowning. “I’m sorry. There’s no sign of it.”

Her throat went dry. She felt like gagging, and it wasn’t from the sickly scent of gumdrops. “If those punks picked it up, they’ll know my friends’ numbers, my home number. With reverse lookup, they’ll figure out my address.” If they were brazen enough to chase her in broad daylight, who knew what they’d try under the cover of darkness?

Ethan slanted her a sideways look as he slid into the car beside her. “Why are you worried they’d come after you again?”

Her heart skipped as she realized that from his perspective there was no logical reason why they would. Why would they risk getting caught after they’d already gotten away?

She tried for a self-deprecating smile that felt weak even to her. “I guess because Dad drilled into our heads the importance of keeping our private information private. Residents will use anything as leverage to manipulate us.”

He regarded her steadily, intelligence shining out of his chocolate-colored eyes, and she shifted on her seat. “Is that the only reason?”

Blake’s ultimatum to her brother—I go down, you go down—flashed through her mind. She needed to talk to Darryl, find out why he thought Blake had targeted her. Find out if he’d snuck back and shot him.

No, she couldn’t ask him that. He’d be horrified that she’d think him capable. And she sure couldn’t confide in Ethan that particular fear.

His fingers brushed past her cheek and gently pulled a leaf from her hair. “Kim, I want to help you. But unless you level with me, I may not be able to protect you.”

She straightened. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

Ethan arched his eyebrow.

“Okay, today was an exception. But nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

He started the car and nodded at the officer as they passed. “Skulk around in neighborhoods like this one and you’re asking for trouble.”

“That from a man who lives here,” she said wryly.

“That from a man who doesn’t want to see you hurt.” His words burrowed into her wounded heart and nestled there. She recalled his stricken expression when he’d knelt over her in the ditch. He’d feared the worst, and something told her he’d seen the worst before. And that the experience still haunted him. He looked at her now with a mixture of frustration and disappointment.

She dropped her gaze, fiddled with her shoelaces. “Take the next left to get to my street,” she said, loosening the laces pinching her swollen foot. She tried not to wince at the way it throbbed.

Ethan jerked the steering wheel right.

“Where are you going? I said turn left.”

“Not anywhere you’re going to be happy about.”

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