Shades of Truth

by Sandra Orchard

She knew they’d just wanted her where they could keep an eye on her instead of home resting her ankle. And considering that her cell phone and the accompanying information were in the hands of who knew who, she should probably be grateful. Hanging out with someone as easy on the eyes as Ethan was certainly no hardship.

  But the man was making her seriously lose her focus. Yesterday, while they were escorting two new residents to their rooms—Ethan in front, her behind—she’d been so busy noticing the cute cowlick at the back of his head that she’d failed to pick up on the animosity simmering between the two boys under their charge.

  Even so, the instant the teen next to her lunged at the other one, she grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back. But the hundred-and-eighty-pound teen reared, slamming her against the wall. The blow made her see white.

  He rammed her again, spouting some slur about people who interfered in gang business.

  Ethan yanked him off her, and the next thing she knew four other staff were carting the pair away while Ethan crouched next to her on the floor saying, “Breathe.”

  Was it any wonder he felt like he had to watch her back?

  He’d never believe she was usually one of the most capable, efficient workers on staff.

  Back to regular duties today, she wandered to the foosball table where Curt and Melvin were getting loud. Moving into a resident’s field of view tended to prompt him to tone it down.

  With any luck, moving out of Ethan’s would help her keep her mind on the job.

  Through the staff station windows, Ethan watched Kim approach two residents playing foosball. Fifteen years after his own stint in a place like this, being on the opposite side of the glass felt a little surreal.

  He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes. Between scouring the streets for the two punks who’d terrorized Kim and pursuing possible connections to his case, he’d gotten little sleep the past few nights. If only Blake would wake from his coma, maybe he could get some answers.

  Ethan shook off his preoccupation with Kim and focused on the opportunity at hand. Darryl, the unit’s third staff member, had been called to the gym to assist with an issue. With Kim busy, Ethan finally had a few moments of privacy to look over the resident logs. The two informants who were killed before they could finger their recruiter had both come from this unit. If he could detect any pattern between those who worked the unit prior to their releases, he might be able to pinpoint the most likely suspect.

  He flipped back through the log’s pages. Three staff members manned the unit at a time. Darryl, Tony and, up until recently, Mitch were the regular full-timers, while the part-timers tended to be college students who turned over faster than a dog with fleas. On several occasions like today, Kim, who normally worked unit one, had covered for another staff member. Of course, any staff member, from teachers to maintenance, could encounter the residents outside the units, whether in the classroom, the dining hall, the gym, the yard or the crafts rooms.

  “What are you doing?” Darryl said sharply. The door thudded closed behind him.

  Ethan’s heart jumped, but he quickly recovered. “Familiarizing myself with the record-keeping.”

  “You can do that after the residents are confined to their rooms for the night. You’re supposed to be on unit.”

  A sudden movement on the other side of the glass drew his attention to Kim.

  “Take it easy,” Kim said to the quarreling young men.

  Instead of backing off, the larger of the two—a five-foot-ten, muscle-packed bully named Curt—moved in on the other kid, Beanpole.

  Kim stepped between them as Curt took a swing.

  Ethan flung open the staff station door and rushed the kid. But Kim ducked in time, and Beanpole’s face took the brunt of Curt’s blow.

  Like lightning, Kim grabbed Curt’s closest hand and twisted his arm behind his back. Ethan grabbed the other, barely restraining the urge to shove the kid face-first into the wall.

  “You’ll pay for this,” Beanpole shouted, clamping his spurting nose. “This is assault. Your parole is screwed now.”

  Curt wrestled against their hold. “Beanpole started it.”

  “Move,” Kim said, steering the kid toward the resident debriefing room.

  Curt dug in his heels at the door. “Beanpole asked for it—I’m tellin’ ya.”

  He was typical of the guys Ethan had been incarcerated with. Nothing was ever their fault.

  Wrenching Curt’s arm a fraction higher, Ethan shoved him into the barren room, then eased up. Took a deep breath. He’d lost it when he’d seen Curt’s fist on a collision course with Kim’s face.

  And he couldn’t afford to lose it.

  He glanced at Kim. She hadn’t hesitated a second to restrain Curt, despite the attack she’d suffered yesterday. No thanks to him.

  “Ready to keep your hands to yourself?” Ethan asked in a carefully controlled voice.

  “Yeah, okay,” Curt said, sullen.

  Ethan looked to Kim. “You want me to handle this?”

  She released her hold and took a step back. “Sure. You’ve got to fly solo sometime. I’ll watch.”

  He took another deep breath, debated what approach to take. If Curt was up for parole soon, he’d be just the kid the drug ring would want to recruit, if they hadn’t already. And just the kid Ethan needed to win over to groom as an informant.

  He slowly lowered Curt’s arm. “What are you in for?”

  Curt’s rigid spine, the jut of his chin, exuded defiance. “I assaulted my old man.”

  Yeah, Ethan should’ve guessed. He knew this kind of kid. “Your dad must’ve made you really mad.”

  Curt shrugged.

  “He used to smack you good before you got big enough to defend yourself, huh?”

  Curt’s face twisted into a bitter grimace, but his gaze dropped to the floor. “He never laid a hand on me.”

  No kidding? The teen was a dead ringer for an abuse victim. “How long have you been here?”

  Another shrug.

  “When do you get out?”

  “Couple of weeks.”

  Mere weeks. Didn’t give him much time. “I’m thinking this blowup wasn’t about Beanpole at all. Am I right?”

  Curt studied Ethan through narrowed eyes.

  Kim retreated from the room, perhaps sensing Curt didn’t appreciate the audience.

  “Will you go home when you get out of here?”

  “No.” The ache in Curt’s voice rooted into the darkest recesses of Ethan’s heart.

  Translation—my parents don’t want me.

  “So you’ll be on your own.” Ethan broke eye contact.

  His gaze settled on the fist-sized dents texturing the walls. He winced, remembering the destruction he’d caused during his own stint in detention.

  He turned his attention back to Curt. “I know how that feels.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Ethan sighed. He recognized the defiance for what it was—a way to keep from being hurt. His own dad had visited him exactly once in youth jail, for a grand total of five minutes—just long enough to disown him.

  Of course, he’d deserved his parents’ rejection. Was that how Curt felt, too?

  “I’m serious,” he told the kid, hoping to spark some sense of connection. “When I was your age, my dad told me I was dead to him, but I figured I deserved it.”

  Curt snorted. “I don’t give a crap what my old man thinks.”

  Ethan restrained himself from reacting. The kid had been soft-pedaled for the past eleven months; clearly, the approach hadn’t worked with him. Maybe it was time to try a different tactic. Because if Curt stuck with his hard-nosed attitude, he’d never make anything of himself.

  E
than flicked a glance at the cameras monitoring the room and wondered if Kim was still watching. He turned his back to the cameras and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you something. I was in juvie for fourteen months. I didn’t want to be there any more than you do. So when someone believed in me and gave me a chance to make something of myself, I took it. But I lived day in and day out with kids who’d never let anyone in. Kids like you. And you know what? Their lives amounted to squat.”

  Curt shrugged.

  The sound of a throat clearing drew their attention to the door.

  Terrific. How much had she heard?

  Kim pierced Ethan with a laser-hot glare. “May I have a word with you?”

  “Can it wait?”

  “No.”

  He joined her in the hall and she laid into him faster than a police dog on attack. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Getting this kid to face what’s really chewing his insides.”

  “He clobbered a guy because he beat him at foosball.”

  “If you think that kid cares one iota that Beanpole beat him at foosball, you’re in the wrong job.”

  Kim’s cheeks flamed. “I know there’s more to it, but—”

  “Curt has a chip on his shoulder bigger than Alcatraz, and it’s going to get him in a lot worse trouble when he gets out of here if we don’t make him face it now.”

  “But you don’t do that by telling someone they’re going to amount to squat. Curt’s not stupid. You can’t dupe him with reverse psychology. These kids know all the angles. Besides, probably all Curt’s heard his whole life is that he’ll never amount to anything. Do you seriously think hearing the same thing from you will motivate him to change?”

  Ethan slid a glance to the room. He’d have settled for kinship, scoring a few points for shared experiences, winning a little trust. Changing the kid was Kim’s department. His was to turn off the tap supplying Miller’s Bay with a steady stream of drug pushers.

  He shrugged. Maybe Kim was right. He’d been in Curt’s shoes. And the tactic hadn’t worked on him, either.

  Kim’s gaze turned warm and approving. She gave his upper arm an encouraging squeeze. “Be the one who believes in him.”

  The confidence shining in her eyes that he could be that person melted his resistance. Oh, wow. If more kids had someone like Kim championing them, keeping them off the streets, his job would be a whole lot easier. Something about her relentless defense of these troublemakers drew him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

  More than once in the past few days, he’d let himself wonder what it would be like to be loved by such a woman.

  He plowed his hands through his hair. Okay, any minute his common sense would return. He’d lied to her, made her believe he wasn’t a cop anymore. Worse, he’d agreed to help her save Hope Manor when he was supposed to uncover a scheme that would likely destroy it.

  What was he supposed to do now?

  SEVEN

  Kim clutched her stomach and slumped onto a bench in the staff locker room.

  “You okay?” Tony asked.

  “You know how I am. I always feel sick after having to restrain a resident. I’ll replay the situation in my mind for a week.” At least she’d talked Mel out of pressing charges.

  Tony gave her a wry grin. “It’s the heaps of paperwork we have to do after an intervention that make me sick.”

  Kim laughed, remembering Ethan’s identical complaint. She’d watched him debriefing Curt long enough to assure herself that he’d softened his approach. His claim that he’d served time in youth jail had piqued her curiosity, but she hadn’t exactly been able to ask him about it when she confronted him over his interrogation tactics.

  At first she’d thought his story might’ve been a ploy to get Curt to open up, but Ethan’s empathy for the teen seemed too genuine. She hoped it was, because she couldn’t condone lying, no matter how altruistic the reason.

  Lockers clattered around her as the rest of the day shift prepared to go home. Tony pulled on his ball cap and sauntered toward her. “Aren’t you heading home?”

  “I’m waiting for Ethan. We’re going to interview some former residents.”

  “What?” Tony tore off his cap and slapped it against his leg. “Why would you do that?”

  “I’m gathering success stories for a newspaper article to boost the manor’s image.” She squinted up at him. Ethan’s suspicions of Tony flashed through her thoughts, but she quickly reined in her runaway imagination. “Perhaps you could suggest someone.”

  Ethan stepped into the locker room at that moment and leveled a cautionary glare at her.

  Tony replaced his cap and tugged the brim low over his eyes. “I suggest you think of another plan. Youth records are sealed. Former residents won’t appreciate you hunting them down.”

  “I’m hardly—”

  “Tony has a good point,” Ethan interjected. “We may want to rethink your strategy.”

  Kim opened her mouth to argue. But one look at Ethan’s tight expression made her swallow her protest.

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “Why borrow trouble?”

  Ethan clapped his back. “Don’t worry. Trouble is exactly what I’m trying to keep Kim out of.”

  Tony laughed. “Good luck with that. I’ve known her since she was knee-high. Trust me, keeping Kim out of trouble is a full-time job.”

  Kim folded her arms over her chest. “News flash, I’m standing right here!”

  The twinkle in Tony’s eye said You know I’m right, but he just chuckled and walked out, leaving her feeling like a little girl—the little girl who had accidentally handcuffed herself to Dad’s office chair, only to be found by Tony.

  “It’s bad enough I have to listen to my brother take a strip out of me without Tony treating me like a kid, too. And you! You agreed we’d meet with ex-residents. Why’d you side with Tony?” The former residents she planned to visit had all remained in touch with the manor. If their stories could help, she was sure they’d be happy to share them.

  “Because I didn’t want him to know our plans.” Ethan opened his locker and grabbed his wallet, keys and cell phone. “What did your brother say to get you all riled?”

  Kim dragged her voice down a notch. “He chewed me out for stepping between the boys.”

  “He cares about you.” Ethan’s smile slipped. “That’s a good thing.”

  His faraway look made Kim wonder if Ethan felt as though he had no one who cared about him. She was reminded of his comment to Curt about not being welcomed home. “Your family’s not close?”

  “I’m on my own.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope.” Ethan coaxed her toward the exit with a light touch to the small of her back that momentarily derailed her train of thought.

  Of course, maybe that had been Ethan’s intention. From his monosyllabic answers, he clearly didn’t like talking about himself, which made her all the more curious. “What about your parents?”

  Ethan held open the door and waited for her to step outside. “Why all the questions?”

  “Oh, I’ve barely begun,” she teased, giving his collar a tweak. “You know all about me, and I know so little about you. Except that you apparently spent fourteen months in detention.”

  His brief smile looked more like a wince.

  “So the story is true. What were you in for?”

  The door closed behind them with a thud, and the gray clouds overhead matched the bleak look in Ethan’s eyes. “I’d rather not talk about it. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “But you’ve overcome your past. That’s the kind of success story I need to find for Hope Manor.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I’m the exception.”
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  “That’s not true.”

  “Trust me, as a cop, most of my arrests were of repeat offenders. The routine gets pretty frustrating after a while.”

  “So what made the difference in your life?”

  Before he could answer the question, her new cell phone regaled them with the upbeat ringtone she’d selected.

  Ethan arched a brow. “Beethoven’s Ninth?”

  Pulling her phone from her purse, she shot him a surprised look.

  Ethan grinned. “What? You don’t think I got culture?”

  She stifled a laugh as she answered the phone.

  “Honey, you need to get to the hospital right away.” Mom’s words wiped the smile off her face.

  “What’s happened?” Kim flashed Ethan a panicked look and hurried toward the car.

  “Hospital?” Ethan said, sliding into the driver’s seat, and she gave him a terse nod.

  Halfway to the hospital, she disconnected. It took another couple of blocks before she managed to swallow the despair lodged in her throat and fill Ethan in. “Dad stopped breathing. They’ve put him on a respirator.” Raindrops, like tears from heaven, splashed on the windshield. She clenched her jaw against a rush of pain. “Please hurry.”

  Ethan reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “Almost there.”

  His caring touch unraveled her. She wasn’t ready to lose Dad. Not yet. Not ever. She closed her eyes against a swell of tears and prayed for strength.

  Minutes later, Ethan pulled up to the parking attendant’s booth and fished through his pocket for change.

  She opened the door. “I’ll run from here. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Kim, wait.”

  “There’s no time.” She hurried toward the building, dimly registering Ethan telling the parking attendant to keep the change. She sped around the corner of the building to grab the side-entrance door.

  A car door slammed, and the slap of shoes on wet pavement quickened toward her.

  Thinking it was Ethan, she flung a glance over her shoulder.

  The pockmarked teen she’d seen vandalizing her car lunged at her, shouting slurs. He caught hold of her purse as she grabbed for the door.