Deep Cover. Sandra Orchard
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.”
She looked from him to the knife, then dropped it into the sink. A faint “I doubt that” vibrated beneath the clatter of metal on metal. She swiped her hands on her apron, leaving red juice smeared across her belly.
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
Ginny offered a silent nod and scooped ice cream.
“She told me she’s getting better.”
“Well, you of all people should know you can’t always believe what people tell you.”
Ouch. She still knew how to deliver the blindside punch.
Add to that the tears in her eyes, and he ached like she’d twisted that knife into his chest.
She shoved a tray into his hands, barricading herself behind four bowls of mutilated pie and ice cream. “Go,” she said in the same dismissive tone she’d used that night outside the restaurant.
He set the tray on the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She yanked mugs from the cupboard and busied herself ladling hot chocolate into them. “I can’t do this again. I’m grateful that you won over the town council, but I won’t keep your secret any longer.”
“Your uncle knows.”
Ginny’s arm jerked and hot chocolate spilled over the side of the mug.
“I told him yesterday.” With Ginny’s safety in jeopardy, confessing had seemed more prudent than waiting for her to act. He told Laud they’d been close. He told him about his gang affiliations and how Ginny had stormed out of his life when she found out. He told him how he’d moved and changed his name, hoping for a second chance, but that Ginny turned him down. Then he’d handed her uncle a written resignation. Thankfully, Laud refused.
Ginny glared at him with enough firepower to take out a small country. “He knows what? That your real name is Rick? Does he know you were in a gang, too, or did you leave out that part?”
“I’m sorry I let you believe that.”
“Let me believe? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The Python member who bumped into me was the kind of guy who’d kill his own mother for selling him out. After the way he leered at you, I was afraid he’d use you to get to me. It was safer to let you go.”
“Wow, the story sounds so noble the way you tell it. So let me get this straight. You were in a gang, but you intended to sell them out. And you were afraid I’d get caught in the cross fire. Which makes you a hero instead of a liar?”
“More or less, yes.” Only he didn’t feel so heroic. “You have to understand that it can be a long, hard road escaping from one’s past.”
A fact.
The hallmark of a successful undercover cop was stating facts that led a person to the most expedient assumptions.
“Have you escaped?” The soft question reflected the heart of the Ginny he remembered.
“I’m working on it,” he muttered. Sometimes he hated this job.
“Look, Rick. Duke. Whatever you want me to call you. I’m glad you’re turning your life around. But if you truly cared about me, you would have quit this job when I asked, not manipulated your way into my uncle’s confidence.”
“Ginny, I—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. If my uncle hasn’t seen fit to fire you, I won’t try to change his mind. But … if you do anything to train-wreck this project, I will never forgive you. Never.”
At the thought of the inevitable fallout following Laud’s arrest, Rick’s insides piled up like colliding boxcars. “I promise you, your uncle has nothing on me that will derail this project.”
Glass exploded into the room.
Rick shoved Ginny down and shielded her body with his. Heart drumming, he scanned the debris. Seeing a rock, he shot to his feet and glimpsed a youth—baggy pants, dark hoodie pulled low over his head—running through the neighbor’s backyard. “Stay down,” Rick shouted, sprinting outside. He chased the kid for half a block. Then the kid just disappeared.
Rick braced his hands on his knees until he caught his breath. The adrenaline shooting through his body took longer to tame.
From all appearances, the vandalism had been a cheap shot by a bored kid out for some kicks. At least that’s what Rick kept telling himself as he walked back to the house. One glimpse at the three Bryson women huddled inside the door, their faces pale, told him he wasn’t the only one who needed to be convinced.
“I saw the kid, but he got away,” Rick said, stepping inside. “I’ll clean up this mess and replace the window for you first thing in the—”
Ginny’s horrified gaze dropped to a piece of paper crumpled in her hand. Rick swallowed the last of his words.
This was no prank.