Deep Cover

“When did you find out?”

“I knew all along.”

“Have you lost your mind? Does Drake know? I can’t believe the captain let you go in on this one. You had to know you’d run into her.”

“This conversation is between you and me. Got it? When Ginny and I dated, she claimed she rarely saw her uncle. Her connection shouldn’t have been an issue.”

“What is Ginny’s connection, exactly?”

“She’s the new PR person. In charge of fundraising.”

Zach pushed his fingers through his hair, then slapped on his ball cap. “Oh, man, you’re cooked. Pull out before the entire operation—and your cover—go up in flames.”

“I can’t. I’m here to put Laud out of business. A few days ago, I overheard a guy put the squeeze on him for fifty grand. The accent sounded Russian. If Laud owes the Russian mob that kind of cash, it’s only a matter of time before he torches another property.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Someone sabotaged the construction site last night. Laud has to be getting desperate. His last project soared into six-digit overruns. He can’t keep starting new projects to finance unfinished ones. He intends to use this one to cash in. I can feel it. It’s the perfect setup. Skim money from the grants and donations to keep his creditors off his back. Then torch the place for the insurance before anyone catches on.”

“Perfect, except for one thing.”

“Yeah.” Rick’s breath seeped from his chest. “Ginny.”

“She’s bound to tell Laud you’re using an alias.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said, not thrilled with the plan but liking it better than the alternative. “I’ll admit I’ve had some run-ins with the law. That nugget should convince Laud I’m corruptible enough to hire to torch one of his buildings. Then I’ll have him.” Rick shook the tension from his shoulders. Yeah, this could work.

“What if you’re wrong? What if Ginny is part of the family business?”

“She’s not.” Rick crushed the soda can in his hand. That kind of innuendo was precisely why he wouldn’t let this assignment fall to someone else. He had to protect Ginny. He owed her that much.

Rick rubbed his still-sore ribs. He’d do whatever it took to convince her he was her best hope of getting this project built. With a saboteur on the prowl, more than her reputation was at risk.

“Consider this, my friend. If you nail her uncle, who do you think she’ll blame?”

“Me. I know.” Rick had no illusions about that. “Just like I know that when this case is over, we’re over.”

Laud switched off his bedroom lights, pressed his back to the wall and nudged aside the curtain. He hated coincidences—like the silver Ford Escort that started tailing him within hours of his visit to the insurance company.

Bad enough the insurance buffoons wouldn’t pay up on the townhouse fire. Further investigation, they claimed. Sure. Now this.

He let the curtain slip into place.

He swiped the back of his hand across his moist brow and stared at the overnight bag he’d dumped on his bed. What if his pal in the Ford didn’t work for the insurance company? What if he belonged to Petroski?

The slimeball probably had spies everywhere to make sure clients didn’t skip town before their next loan payments. The calling card at the construction site had no doubt been his friendly reminder.

Laud stalked down the hall. The cold laminate floor bit into his bare feet. He never should’ve come back to this stinkhole town where everyone knew his business before he did. He couldn’t even hire a decent salesman here.

Laud snapped on his desk lamp and glanced at the glossy sales brochure for his new high-end offices. The salesman had attached a business card with his photo—slicked-back hair, gapped teeth, cheap suit. No wonder the idiot had scarcely leased half the units at the Harbor Creek development.

The muscles in Laud’s neck bunched. He dug his fingers into the knots and kneaded them loose. He’d have to find another way to raise enough cash to keep Petroski off his back until Ginny came through for him.

Laud poured himself a double Scotch, tossed it back in one swallow, and waited for its magic to take effect. But the slow burn was no match for the flames smoldering in his chest.

He sank into his leather chair and tapped in the password for his online banking account. As the please wait circle swirled on his computer screen, Laud fed Duke’s resignation letter to the shredder. The man might be just the distraction he needed to preoccupy his niece, and her meddling mother, until his plans fell into place. He should’ve silenced his sister-in-law when he had the chance.

His banking info blipped onto the computer screen. A lousy three grand in the account—not enough to cover a week’s interest on the three million he owed Petroski, let alone a month’s.

The heat in his chest intensified.

He rubbed his knuckles over his ribs and popped another antacid.

Lori smiled at him from the hand-drawn picture on the corner of his desk. The sloppy scrawl looked like a three-year-old colored it, all big heads and stick arms outlined in worn-down crayons.

His insides twisted.

The latest blackmail note lay unopened on his desk.

Popping a second antacid into his mouth, he tore open the envelope. Boldfaced letters, cut and pasted from a newspaper, read: “You’ll pay. One way or another, you’ll pay.”

Blinding pain clawed at his chest. He clutched his shirt with one hand and grappled for the phone with the other. Punched nine—breathe—one—breathe—The pain released a fraction, then a fraction more. Not a heart attack. Anxiety. Just anxiety.

Laud slumped over the desk and drew in a big breath. He tried to hang up the phone. Missed. Shifted the receiver until it fit into the cradle. If he landed in the hospital, everything would collapse. He couldn’t afford to give in to weakness.

He straightened, retrieved the blackmail letter and flattened out the crinkles with his palm. No instructions. No explanations. No demands.

Just threats.

But from who?

Laud flicked his lighter at the edge of the paper and let the flames eat the words.

Just words.

The phone rang.

Laud dropped the burning page into the metal waste bin and smoothed his hair.

The phone rang a second time.

He poured himself another drink, checked his appearance in the wall mirror, straightened his shirt.

On the third ring, he picked up. “Yeah.”

“I finished the background check on Duke Black and you won’t like what I found.”

So much for my ultimatum. Ginny scraped the supper leftovers into the bin under the kitchen sink, wishing she could expunge Rick from her thoughts as easily. She had enough crises in her life with trying to stop some crazy person from disrupting the group home’s progress. If she had to deal with Rick as well, she might be the one who needed an institution.

She’d given him two days to quit on his own. Not because she believed his woebegone story, but because the Bible says to forgive the person who sins against you. Seventy-seven times, if necessary. And the Lord knew she had plenty of experience putting that advice into practice living with an alcoholic mother.

Yet, not only hadn’t Rick cooperated, he’d dismissed the security guard she had hired to patrol the grounds and had practically throttled her after she invited the press to the construction site for a photo op. If her uncle had been in town, she would’ve outed Rick, then and there. Tonight, she would.

Ginny glanced out the window to see if she’d need an umbrella and noticed the same gray car that had crept past the house half an hour ago.

The phone rang. Lori dashed into the kitchen, sliding to a halt as Ginny grabbed the receiver. The muffled sound of Lori’s favorite game show drifted in from the living room.

“I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Laud,” Uncle Emile’s newest secretary said in the overly formal tone of someone trying too hard to sound professional. “He asked me to inform you that Mr. Black will attend the council meeting in his place tonight.”

“What? No.” The building inspector had insisted they obtain a variance after someone—their saboteur, no doubt—complained that the location of the wheelchair ramp violated the town’s building codes. Facing town council would be stressful enough without adding Rick to the equation.

“Mr. Black apparently has experience dealing with government,” the woman assured her and clicked off before Ginny had a chance to respond.

Yeah, the justice department. Ginny slapped down the phone. “How could he?”

Glass shattered on the floor behind her. “How could he?” Lori parroted.

Ginny spun around to scold her sister, but at the sight of Lori staring wide-eyed at the broken shards, a laugh with an hysterical edge popped out instead. Brown moppy hair framed pudgy cheeks and a broad, flattened nose. Even at eighteen, Lori had the innocence of a young child. Sometimes she drove Ginny crazy, but Ginny could never stay mad at her.

Lori tossed another plate. “How could he?” she repeated, this time with a grin.

Ginny lunged for the remaining stack of dishes. “No, don’t.” She grabbed the bowl from Lori’s hand, but Lori wouldn’t let go. “Come on, sweetie. Give it to me. You can’t smash the dishes. It’s not funny. I’m sorry I laughed.”

They both let go and the bowl shattered across the floor.

Lori wagged her hands, shifting from foot to foot.

Glass crunched.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” Lori bellowed and plopped onto a chair, grabbing her foot.

Ginny gently peeled off Lori’s sock. As soon as Lori saw the blood, her tears started.

“Shh, now. I’ll put a bandage on that cut and you’ll be fine.”

Mom appeared at the doorway, looking ten years older than she had when she’d slipped to her room during supper. The lines of her disease—well, both of them—had carved fatigue in her face, and her thinning hair made her seem skeletal. A faded pink bathrobe hung from her shoulders and her threadbare slippers offered little protection against the broken glass.

“Watch your step,” Ginny cautioned as she focused on tending Lori’s cut.

Mom teetered and reached a knobby hand out for a chair. She stared at the mess as if Ginny were again three and had helped herself to a glass from the cupboard.

“What happened in here?” Mom’s voice slid through her throat, unanchored and sloppy.

Ginny prayed she didn’t intend to shore up with another secreted bottle. “It’s okay, Mom. Just a couple of broken dishes.” She hadn’t yet mustered the courage to confront Mom with the telltale signs she’d tumbled from the proverbial wagon after years of restraint. The small brown paper bags. Breath mints on her night table. Unsteadiness Ginny might otherwise have blamed on the cancer. She couldn’t have endured the inevitable denials.

The doctors tried to treat Mom’s cancer, but they had no remedy for heartache over a wasted life.

Mom glanced at the clock. “Don’t we have to be at the council meeting soon?”

“You don’t have to come. The approval process is just a formality.”

“Nonsense. Those crooks on the town council will dream up any excuse to deny us the group home we need. All they care about is lining their pockets.” She fluffed what little hair she had left. “But those clowns will have a harder time living with their consciences if they have to look a dying woman and her handicapped daughter in the eye.”

Ginny’s gaze darted to Lori. They never called Lori handicapped. She was special.

Lori hopped from her chair and clapped her hands. “Clowns?”

Mom smiled the special indulgent smile reserved for Lori. “That’s right, dear. Except these clowns don’t have painted faces. Now you go comb your hair while I get dressed.”

Oh great, that’s just what Ginny needed. Wasn’t it bad enough that the man she’d once loved had happened back into her life, as, uh, Duke? “Mom, do you really think you’re in any condition to go tonight?”

The spark in Mom’s eyes flickered out. “Why can’t you see I’m not that person anymore?”

Because you are. Swallowing the words, Ginny turned away.

Rick’s newest lie had dredged up all the old betrayals—his and Mom’s. Never mind that a small part of her hoped his heart had leaped to life when he saw her, the same way hers had.

Duke. Yeah, sure. His name might be Floyd for all she knew.

And who knew what kind of trouble he’d brought with him?

At the front of the town’s council chambers, Mayor Riley, his double chin tripling, leaned back in his padded leather chair and folded his hands in smug satisfaction.

Ginny sprang to her feet to reiterate a dozen reasons why he should reconsider his veto, but before she could utter a word, Rick’s voice rose from the back of the room.

“Mayor, if I may, I’d like to address the council. I’m the foreman on this project.”

“Your name?”

“Duke.” He flashed a warning glance in Ginny’s direction. “Duke Black.”

The mayor motioned him forward. Ginny slumped into her seat and prayed he didn’t make their situation worse.

“That man looks an awful lot like your Rick,” Mom whispered, her words remarkably clear given the way she’d slurred them earlier.

“He is Rick.”

“Why’s he calling himself Duke?”

“Good question, Mother. Why don’t you ask him?”

Lori’s face scrunched as she pointed at Rick. “That’s—”

Ginny clapped a hand over Lori’s mouth. Lori’s cheeks reddened the way they always did just before she threw a fit.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice Mom maneuver Lori out the side door. Rick’s velvety tones enraptured the audience, and when the mayor called for a vote, the motion to approve the variance passed with only one opposed.

Rick veered toward Ginny wearing a heart-stopping grin, and she scarcely restrained a sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“You can thank me by letting me stay on the project.” He gave her a sideways hug and heat rushed to her cheeks as she scrambled to recover her composure. He steered her toward the door. “Deal?”

“What?” She slipped from his grasp before the allure of his closeness brainwashed her into saying something stupid—like yes. He may have won this battle for them, but they’d survived fine without him up until now.

The instant Rick stepped through the council chambers’ main doors, Lori launched into his arms. “Rick,” she cried out, her voice echoing in the cavernous lobby.

Ginny glanced around the shadowy lobby, wondering why she cared if anyone overheard her sister’s declaration.

Maybe it was the way Rick hesitated and stiffened at her words, as if … nervous?

Ginny must’ve imagined Rick’s reaction to Lori’s greeting, because a second later he wrapped Lori in his arms. “Hey, kiddo.”

To think not so long ago his arms were the only place Ginny had wanted to be. Rick’s comfortable acceptance of her sister had been one of the qualities she had admired most about him. Unlike her other boyfriends, Rick had actually wanted to include Lori in some of their activities, or share a meal with her mom. But that had also made his leaving hurt all the more.

Mom eased Lori from his embrace. “Rick, dear. It’s wonderful to see you again. Looking so well. Why don’t you come back to the house with us so we can catch up?”

Rick shot Ginny a startled look. Fifteen months had ravaged Mom’s body. He probably scarcely recognized her.

His gaze softened and the ache in Ginny’s chest deepened. She’d been holding herself together since Mom’s diagnosis, but one glimpse at the compassion in Rick’s eyes and she could feel herself falling apart. She couldn’t let herself tumble back into the trap of letting him close enough to share her pain.

“Mom, I’m sure Duke has other things he needs to do.”

He grinned. “Not at all. I’m all yours.”

THREE

Caught between duty and fleeing as far from Rick as she could get, Ginny stayed in the car while Mom led the way to the front door of their bungalow under the protection of Rick’s umbrella. Mom had a way of being happily oblivious to the peeled paint on the windowsills, the split in the porch step and the grass long enough to feed a flock of sheep. But if Ginny followed them inside, she’d be all but laying out the welcome mat for Rick to retrample her heart.

“Coming?” Mom called.

Ginny hit the automatic switch for the window. The gears whirred to no effect. She toggled the switch and the window lurched, stopping three inches from the top.

Leaning over, Ginny pitched her voice through the opening. “I thought I’d pick up groceries. Maybe stop by Uncle Emile’s. There’s something important I need to discuss with him.”

“Nonsense, you can do that tomorrow.” Mom and Lori disappeared into the house.

No such luck with Rick. He hunched next to her window until their eyes were level. “I can fix that switch if you like.”

Rain dribbled off his umbrella and found its way through the gap in the window.

She rammed her thumb onto the button, but the window wouldn’t budge. Not up. Not down. Why couldn’t he just go away?

Rick opened the car door and offered her a hand. “You go in and dish up the pie Lori promised me, and I’ll take care of this window.” Humor lit his eyes, and was that a … a …?

“Are you laughing?” Laughing? “Oh, you have some nerve, pal. If you knew what kind of month I’ve had, you wouldn’t be laughing. I can’t afford any more car repairs.” Not when she needed every spare dime to pay for Mom’s medicine.

“Lucky for you I want to help then.”

“Hello? I—don’t—want—your—help! I want you gone.”

She reached for the handle, but Rick hunkered between the door and her seat, blocking her attempt to shut him out. He covered her hand with his, and for one second, maybe two, she lost herself in the warmth. Forgetting the rain. Forgetting her mom and sister waiting inside. Forgetting why she shouldn’t lean into his embrace.

Then she remembered who he was, or rather wasn’t, and snatched her hand away. Everything he did was an act to get what he wanted.

He stepped back and held the door open. “We need to talk before you have that conversation with your uncle, so how about some hot chocolate to go with that pie?”

“Oh sure, that’s exactly what I should give you—like a stray puppy, so you’ll stick around. Pul-lease.”

A full-blown grin dimpled his cheeks and Ginny bolted for the covered porch before he obliterated her resolve.

On the street, a boxy gray car—like the one she’d noticed trolling the neighborhood earlier tonight—slowed. Come to think of it, the car looked a lot like the one that had been idling outside the town hall. She leaned over the porch rail for a better look and the car raced off.

Suddenly grateful for Rick’s solid presence, Ginny glanced toward her car.

Inside, Rick had settled into the driver’s seat and his fingers grazed the dove ornament dangling from the rearview mirror, his touch almost reverent. Was he remembering the day he gave it to her?

A soaring dove to remind you God is watching over you when I can’t be, he’d said.

How she’d cherished his words. Maybe he did know how special he’d once made her feel. With him, her words sparkled, her dreams grew vivid, her hopes became tangible.

He made her believe she could be more than …

“Ginny?” Lori’s frantic call cut through the brick and glass.

Ginny trudged inside and hung her wet jacket on the coat tree.

The sweet smell of hot chocolate hung in the air, and Ginny didn’t know why she was surprised. Mom had always had a chameleonlike ability to transform from a wasted alcoholic to Suzie Homemaker in the time it took a social worker to get from the driveway to the door.

Ginny hurried to the kitchen, picking up scattered socks and shoes along the way.

Lori was digging through the freezer and Mom stood at the stove stirring a pot of hot chocolate. But neither had noticed the crumbs and ketchup smeared across the vinyl tablecloth.

Ginny grabbed a wet rag. Appliances and abandoned mail cluttered the countertops, and thanks to the ripped screen in the window above the sink, the fly strip hanging over the table had no vacancies.

“Where’s Rick?” Mom chirped.

“His name is Duke.” Ginny traded the dishrag for a knife and jabbed the center of the pie her friend Kim’s mom had given them. “How can you trust a guy who changes his name for no good reason?”

“I’m sure he has a reasonable explanation. Why don’t you ask him? He’ll tell you.”

“What makes you think I want an explanation?” Ginny snapped as her insides crumbled like the pastry under her knife. She’d waited for months, hoping he’d come back, but he hadn’t, which only proved she hadn’t meant as much to him as he had to her. Another reason she needed him off this project.

Rick stood on the Bryson porch waiting to be let in. His damp clothes clung to him like the doubts Ginny had dredged up. Perhaps he could finesse his way into Mrs. Bryson’s good graces. She might be just the ally he needed to convince Ginny to trust him.

The Bryson’s front door burst open and Lori tugged him into the living room.

The place hadn’t changed much. The bright orange globe suspended from the ceiling cast a cheerful glow over the room. Tattered love seats sat kitty-corner to one another, facing the picture window on one side and a blazing gas fireplace on the other. Homey. Lived in. A haven.

“Rick. Play checkers,” Lori pleaded.

In the flowery skirt and snug sweater, she looked like a woman, but inside, she was still the fun-loving girl he remembered. “Call me Duke, okay?”

She pushed out her lips and scrutinized him like he’d grown a second nose instead of a moustache. “You Rick.” The wide space between her eyes crumpled, and his conscience took another beating.

“Yes, my name is Rick, but it’s fun to pretend. Remember when you used to pretend you were a princess? Well, a duke is like a prince.” He took her hand and bowed. “You can be a princess, and I’ll be Duke.”

As though the orange globe had transformed into a glittering chandelier, Lori’s eyes lit and she twirled around the coffee table like a princess in a flowing gown. “Okay, Duke.”

Mrs. Bryson watched him with guarded eyes. She’d become a mere ghost of the woman he’d once known, and the yellow cast to her complexion had nothing to do with the funky orange light shade. He should’ve been here for them.

She must’ve sensed his concern because her reserve mellowed. “It’s cancer.” She dropped her gaze. “I am getting better.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Lori elbowed between them and tugged Rick toward the sofa. “Date Ginny?”

“I don’t think Ginny wants me back, sweetie.”

“Yes, do. She your picture. Me show.” Lori skipped down the hallway. Before he could relish her enlightening bit of news, Mrs. Bryson took over the interrogation.

“Why did you change your name?”

“I wanted a fresh start.”

“Why are you back here then?”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“So you didn’t come back for Ginny?”

“I …” No. He gulped in a breath. He should’ve come back months ago. Apologized. Explained.

“I don’t want to see my daughters hurt again,” Mrs. Bryson said.

“Trust me. Neither do I.”

She studied him in skeptical silence; his hope that she’d prove an ally dimmed. “Perhaps you should help Ginny serve the dessert before my princess finds that picture.”

Buoyed by the reprieve, Rick paused at the entrance to the kitchen and watched Ginny eviscerate the promised pie. “Your window works.”

She spun around, knife raised, blood-red cherry juice dripping over her fingers.

He held up his hands in mock horror. “I come in peace.”