Shades of Truth

by Sandra Orchard

  Letting her purse rip from her shoulder, she yanked open the door and slammed hard into a solid wall of muscle.

  Powerful hands caught her by the arms. “Get out of here!” the man barked at her attacker.

  “This ain’t your business, old man,” the kid snarled.

  “Yeah, it is,” the well-dressed man shot back with a tone that dared the kid to defy him. “Now, drop the purse and git.”

  The kid got, and Kim’s breath swooshed from her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, stunned, and looked into her rescuer’s face for the first time.

  He smiled kindly.

  She smothered a gasp. “You’re Dad’s visitor from the other night,” she stuttered, taking an instinctive step back.

  His fingers tightened around her arm. “Wait.”

  She swallowed, forced herself to look at him. He’d just saved her from being robbed, maybe worse. So why was her heart pounding out of her chest?

  Ethan parked in the first empty spot he could find and jumped out of the car to follow Kim into the hospital. His phone bleated.

  “Reed,” Ethan barked into the phone.

  “We’ve got another suspicious OD,” Chief Hanson said without preamble.

  Stifling a curse, Ethan glanced at the building, then slid back into his car, out of the rain.

  “The victim had a Hope Manor card in his wallet,” the chief continued. “The kind with the helpline number the staff hand the kids when they’re released. This kid—Greg Sawyer—got out less than a month ago. His card wasn’t even dog-eared yet.”

  Ethan groaned. This solidified their theory that the kids were being set-up to sell drugs from the moment they left the manor. If only he’d been able to convince Curt to trust him, maybe he’d have a name.

  “Ecstasy pills were scattered over the kid’s night table, but between you and me, the doc noticed an injection site next to one of the kid’s piercings.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would they take him out?”

  “Sawyer’s mom came to the station to report his suspicious activities. Looks like the drug ring decided to silence the kid before we could get to him. Make it look like an overdose.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “As good as. They took him to Memorial. But it doesn’t look like he’ll regain consciousness. Clearly, I’ve got a leak in my department. And the message is clear. You mess with them, you pay. You’ll want to watch your back.”

  “I hear you.” No one in the department was supposed to know the chief hired him for this operation, but that didn’t make it so. Ethan pocketed his phone and prayed for the boy, a victim of his own greed perhaps, certainly his own stupidity. If only they could’ve convinced him there was a better way to live. But fat chance of that happening when one of the very staff members who should’ve pointed the way recruited him into a drug ring.

  Ethan’s thoughts turned to Kim. She’d be heartbroken to learn about Greg. Not that he was free to tell her. That would have to wait until the information went public. Which, considering her father’s downturn, was just as well. Ethan scrubbed his hand over his face. People were being silenced left and right, and he was no closer to identifying the guy behind the orders.

  A white sports car whipped past and out of the lot.

  The sight of a pockmarked teen at the wheel made Ethan’s already knotted stomach lurch. The kid fit the description of Kim’s vandal. What was he doing here?

  Ethan stuffed his key in the ignition and chased after him. One brake light blipped at the corner. Blake’s car?

  Caught by a red light, Ethan slapped the steering wheel in frustration. He was going to lose the kid. The light turned green, and he veered around the three cars ahead of him to take the corner. The sports car was nowhere in sight. Ethan cruised the street, checking parking lots. Seeing nothing, he sped back to the hospital and snagged a parking spot near the side door.

  As he stepped out of the car, Beethoven’s Ninth sounded from the direction of the flower bed.

  Ethan frowned. His gaze arced over the rain-drenched buds.

  Another ring sounded.

  Aha, there. He scooped up the phone, tamping down a rising panic. Where was Kim?

  He scanned the grounds, absorbing every detail, every indentation that might indicate what happened—chewed up grass, scuffs in the gravel, something.

  But there was nothing.

  Kim was a fighter. If she’d been attacked, there’d be some evidence of a struggle.

  Ethan yanked open the hospital door and scaled the stairs two at a time to her dad’s floor. Striding down the hall, he glanced in every room. At room twelve, he stopped.

  Kim sat inside, head bowed over the bed of a frail old man. Safe.

  Ethan slid her phone into his jacket pocket, his heartbeat finally slowing to a normal rhythm. Had she simply dropped it?

  Now that he’d found her, he stood, uncertain, outside the door, not wanting to intrude. Strangled breaths rattled her father’s chest, and Kim winced with each inhalation.

  Ethan found himself wincing in turn, gripped by a sudden, almost irresistible desire to wrap his arms around her and offer what comfort he could.

  Except he didn’t belong here. She needed the comfort of a man who would stand by her through the months of grief ahead. A man worthy of her affection.

  Not a man whose mission would blow apart everything she was straining to hold together.

  His chest ached, and in that moment he realized he’d gotten too close. He’d known her only a few short days. Yet, there it was. Too close.

  The best thing he could do for her was walk away. Walk away from her, and walk away from this case. But walking away wasn’t an option. The drug ring needed to be stopped before another innocent victim got caught in its noose.

  “Ethan?” The voice came from the hallway.

  He turned and a flood of emotions assaulted him. “Joy? What are you doing in Miller’s Bay?”

  “It is you!” Joy wheeled toward him, her ever-present smile ringing in her voice.

  Old feelings of guilt balled in his throat. Scarcely lifting his gaze from the floor, he edged away from Mr. Corbett’s door.

  Thanks to his reckless driving, Joy had probably spent most of her life in one hospital or another, dealing with the consequences of the paralysis he’d caused. And not once had he scrounged up the courage to visit her. Bracing his hand on the wall, he forced himself to make eye contact.

  To his surprise she wasn’t dressed in a hospital gown. The lithe figure of the athlete she’d been had rounded into a grandmotherly one, but she looked stylish in a bright pink blazer over a black blouse. The badge pinned to her lapel said Counselor.

  She touched it, a hint of pride in her eyes. “As you can see, I work here. I moved to Miller’s Bay a few years ago. What about you?”

  “Oh, um.” He waved toward Mr. Corbett’s room. “I’m visiting a friend.”

  Joy wheeled closer and reached for his hand. “Come, sit a moment and tell me how you’re doing.”

  Joy was a toucher. He remembered that about her. Maybe because in jail, contact had been prohibited. But the staff had always overlooked Joy’s need to cover his hand with hers or give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

  “I’ve been so worried about you ever since I read about the shooting. I pray for you every day,” Joy said, clasping his hand the way he remembered.

  Emotion clogged his throat and for a moment he didn’t think he’d be able to reply. He swallowed. What did it say about him that the closest thing he had to family was the woman he’d put in a wheelchair?

  She led him to the alcove. “I sent a card to the station for you. Did you get it?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He sank into a chair opposite her and hung his hands
between his knees, suddenly ashamed that, aside from the letter he’d written Joy when he graduated from the police academy, he’d never sent her anything. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch.”

  “Oh, honey, I never expected you to. I know that seeing me in this chair is painful for you.” She hesitated a moment. “But you have to know that God used my accident for good. Look at you. You’ve grown into a fine young man, out there fighting crime, making the streets safer.”

  Humbled by Joy’s acceptance of her fate, Ethan bowed his head. Not once in all the times she’d visited him in detention had she blamed him for her condition. A staff member who knew Joy once told him that she’d always been devout—although the first few months after the accident had been really hard for her. Then she’d heard about Ethan’s guilt-ridden attempt to end his life, and helping him had become her new mission.

  Looking back, he could see she’d practiced tough love. “If I can live without the use of my legs,” she’d said, “I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about you throwing away your life. You owe me more than that.”

  He owed her. The words had resonated in his mind, and he’d latched on to the chance to make things up to her.

  “You are a new man in Christ,” she’d told him, quoting from the Bible. “The old has gone. The new has come.” And he’d done his best to live up to her belief in him.

  Joy cleared her throat, pulling him from his thoughts. “Have you moved to Miller’s Bay or are you just visiting?”

  Ethan glanced down the hall to assure himself that no one was listening in. “I recently relocated here.”

  “Well, Toronto’s loss is our gain.” She patted his knee. “I imagine you needed a change of scenery after that hoodlum almost killed you.”

  He fidgeted. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint this woman by telling her—for the sake of his cover—that he’d given up police work. “Yes, I guess you could say that.”

  Across the hall, the ice machine chomped into action, and then Kim appeared, carrying a glass of ice chips.

  Ethan sprang to his feet. “Kim, is your father okay?”

  “Oh, yes. Stable, anyway. For now. I’m sorry I—”

  “It’s okay,” he gently cut short her apology. “I understand.”

  Her gaze shifted to Joy and back to him. “You two know each other?”

  Reflexively, he stiffened. “Uh, yeah. Joy helped me through…um…some difficult circumstances a while back.”

  Joy smiled graciously, but shook her head. “The Lord did the work. I merely had the privilege of pointing Ethan in the right direction.” She rested her hands on the wheels of her chair. “It was lovely to see you again, Ethan. I hope we can talk again soon.”

  Ethan stepped awkwardly out of Joy’s way.

  Kim cast an anxious glance toward her father’s room.

  “You go back to your dad,” Ethan said softly. She was distressed enough. News of the punk’s appearance could wait. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I am now, but…” Her bottom lip quivered, and she tugged it between her teeth. “That kid who vandalized my car was here.”

  “I thought so.” Ethan tried not to let how much that worried him sound in his voice. He pulled her phone from his pocket. “I found this outside. Did the kid approach you?”

  She thumbed a smudge of dirt off the screen. “He snatched my purse and would’ve made off with it if a passerby hadn’t scared him away. I was so focused on getting to Dad I didn’t see the kid coming at me until it was too late.” She shuddered, and Ethan had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms.

  “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “Just rattled me. I would’ve forgotten to pick up my purse if the kind man who rescued me hadn’t stopped me.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” He scanned her from head to toe to satisfy himself.

  “Yes.” She turned the phone over in her hand. “I suppose I’d better put a call in to the officer who questioned me about the vandalism. I just don’t understand why this kid has it in for me.”

  Neither did Ethan, but nothing was going to stop him from finding out.

  EIGHT

  At the sight of Aaron pulling away from Kim’s house in that ridiculous Mini Cooper, Ethan’s mood went from bad to worse.

  The overdose victim hadn’t regained consciousness by the time Ethan tried to see him last night, and Kim’s purse snatcher had abandoned Blake’s car at Harbor Park and then disappeared. So Ethan was no closer to figuring out who was behind the attacks on her, let alone whether they had anything to do with his case. He hoped she’d be up to doing the interviews, because he was counting on at least one of the former residents being able to identify whoever was recruiting the kids.

  Now, spotting his prime suspect cavorting with Kim, the woman he’d come to think of more as a cohort in his investigation than a suspect, grated in his chest.

  He parked on the street opposite her parents’ home—an older two story in need of a coat of paint on its weathered wood siding. A majestic oak shaded the driveway, and a wide veranda spanned the front of the house. Ethan grabbed the two cups of coffee he’d picked up and crossed the street. The soft purple hues of early morning had burned off, and the piercing sunlight that emerged promised another scorcher.

  As he drew closer to the front porch, he noticed Kim sitting on a swing in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest, her head bowed, her cascading hair concealing her face. He set the cups on the step. “Kim, are you okay?”

  She lifted her head, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hunkered down in front of her and reached for her hands. “Is it your dad?”

  A whisper of a smile trembled over her lips as she shook her head. “Aaron just told me that Greg Sawyer, one of the residents I was a primary worker for, died this morning. Overdosed.”

  Ethan started at the news. The chief hadn’t notified him of the boy’s death. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t believe it. He seemed like a kid who would turn his life around.” A tear leaked from her eye, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. “I thought, if he was having trouble, he’d call. I told him to call anytime.”

  “This isn’t your fault.” Ethan tucked her hair behind her ear, wishing he could do more. “The boy chose his own way,” he said softly.

  Kim squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

  A tear splashed onto Ethan’s hand, making his heart ache. Her compassion for the residents in her care went beyond anything he’d ever experienced. She deserved the same support. Never mind that he shouldn’t be the one to offer it, that he’d already let himself get too close. For now, he could do this for her.

  He wrapped her in his arms and cradled her head against his chest, trying not to notice how silken her hair felt spilling through his fingers, and how perfectly she fit into his embrace.

  “Shh,” he whispered, wishing he could tell her everything would be okay. But a boy was dead. There was nothing okay about that. How he wished he could’ve spared her another loss. How he wished so many things could be different.

  After a long while Kim drew in a deep breath and stiffened as if bracing herself. She quickly pulled her arms from around him and leaned back, her gaze skittering every which way but at him. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for crying all over you. I don’t know what came over me. Between almost losing Dad last night and now this…” She swallowed, swiped her sleeve across her damp cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  He rose, took a step back. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  He’d deal with his own regrets later.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier. “I’m okay now.”

  Good. If only he were.

 
“Um, what brings you by?” she asked, offering a tentative smile.

  He gave his head a mental shake and refocused on his original mission. He retrieved the coffees he’d brought and, handing her one, joined her on the porch swing. “I thought we might do those interviews. If you feel up to it.”

  Peeling back the coffee’s plastic cap, she let out a small sigh. “I don’t think we should now.”

  A stray hair caught on her lips and he checked the motion to brush it aside. He had a job to do, he reminded himself. And at the moment his job was to expedite these interviews. “Working on your article, knowing you’re doing some good trying to save the manor will help. Don’t you think?”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  He took a sip of coffee, giving her a moment to reconsider, not wanting to push, despite how desperately he needed some fresh leads. When she showed no signs of breaking the silence, he couldn’t bring himself to ratchet up the pressure. “I understand. The interviews can wait.”

  “No, I mean, I’m not sure we should do them at all. Darryl is right. We shouldn’t draw any more attention to Hope Manor.”

  Terrific. Great time for her to start listening to her brother. “But your article idea would be positive attention.”

  “No, you don’t understand. Any mention of the funding cuts is bound to stir a ruckus. Greg’s death would become front-page news, instead of being buried in the middle of the paper where most people won’t read it.” Kim rubbed her fingertips over her forehead, started to say something then stopped herself. “The thing is, Greg’s isn’t the first overdose death in town. In the past six months, two other former residents died in a similar way.”

  “I see,” he said, as if it was the first he’d heard of it. “That link will certainly work against us.”

  “Yeah, what if the police blame the manor for the growing drug problem?”

  “Do you think it’s to blame?”

  “Of course not!” Her shoulders dropped in defeat. “But this doesn’t look good for us.”