Shadows Of Truth. Sharon Mignerey
Micah moved toward the door, which Rachel was starting to close. “Wait–” he said. “I want to help you.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” she said. “Just how are you going to do that?” She turned away from him.
“Look, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” she agreed, lifting her chin.
He stopped in front of her, lifted a hand. “Rachel…”
“Go,” she whispered on a ragged breath. “Just go.”
Micah stepped onto the porch, and she closed the screen door. He stood there facing the sun that burned into his eyes, his fingertips in his jeans pockets. Finally he cleared his throat. “You have no idea how much I regret what I did to you,” he said.
But she was already gone.
SHARON MIGNEREY
After living most of her life in Colorado, Sharon recently moved to the Texas Gulf coast, where Southern hospitality lives up to its reputation for being warm and welcoming. She wanted to be a storyteller since she learned that spelling words could be turned into stories. Sharon’s first book was published in 1997 after winning RWA’s Golden Heart Award in 1995. That same book went on to win the National Reader’s Choice Award. In addition to writing novels, Sharon has had several articles published by The Writer Magazine. She says the accolades are wonderful, but the only lasting satisfaction comes from serving the work. When she’s not writing, you can find her being happily involved with her critique group, learning how to garden in the Texan heat or playing with her two rescued shih tzus.
Sharon loves hearing from readers. She can be reached through her Web site www.sharonmignerey.com or in care of Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Shadows of Truth
Sharon Mignerey
Consider my affliction and my travail.
Forgive all my sins.
—Psalms 25:18
My deepest gratitude to Barbara Harrison,
Judythe Hixson, Sue Hornick and Pamela Nowak— you each are amazing lights.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
Busting a gang of drug dealers would be easier than going to the door to ask for Rachel Neesham’s forgiveness. Even so, Micah McLeod was back in Carbondale, Colorado, a scant hour’s drive from Aspen. Last spring, he had left town to follow a trail of evidence, first to Aspen, then to Cabo San Lucas, all the while pretending his undercover assignment here hadn’t rocked his world.
In truth, he had run.
In truth, he wasn’t sure he would have come back now if not for the threat he knew was hanging over Rachel’s head. That thought shamed him. She had deserved far better from him than he had ever given her.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the wrought-iron gate in front of Rachel’s big, two-story Victorian house and stepped onto the brick walkway that led to her front door. He squared his shoulders and climbed the two steps, each scrape of his boot against the wood echoing in his conscience.
The late-afternoon sun burned into his shoulder blades like a laser. The heavy oak door with its oval etched glass stood open, implying welcome. Once, he had been, and now he hoped she would give him the second chance he had failed to give her.
Her safety depended upon it, though he didn’t have hard evidence to prove it. Yet.
A month ago, Rachel’s old business partner, Angela London, had started leaving him messages from prison. Since she was a proven liar and a convicted felon, he’d figured she was simply working an angle, and he hadn’t been in any hurry to see her. Now, he wished he had answered her summons the first day she had called. The case that had put Angela behind bars had taken one more unpredictable turn, and Rachel was once again caught in the crosshairs.
He frowned, staring into the house beyond the screen door. Given the threats she had received, Rachel should have the house locked up. As it was, anyone could walk right in.
The fragrance from brilliant flowers overflowing the huge terra-cotta pots framing the door assaulted his senses and ratcheted up his unease. Through the screen, the foyer was gilded in sunlight, his own shadow stretching down a hallway that he knew led to the kitchen.
The house always made him think of home, and he realized that was because of the woman and children who lived there. They represented everything he thought a home should be. Welcoming. Generous. Loving. It was like the one he’d grown up in. As an adult, he’d never had that for himself.
He rang the bell, the chimes echoing through the house.
“I’ll get it, Mom,” a childish voice called, as light footsteps clattered down the stairs that framed one side of the entryway.
Sarah. The seven-year-old who looked so much like her mother. In the next instant she appeared, looking taller than she had last spring. Her honey-colored flyaway hair framed her face like a halo.
“Micah!” The little girl’s face lit, and she unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, then skipped forward. “You came back. I kept telling Mom you would. She didn’t believe me.” She took him by the hand and led him into the house.
He should have turned tail and run while he could. Leaving last spring without even telling Rachel’s children goodbye had been nearly as difficult as leaving Rachel. Behind him, the door slammed shut.
“Mom.” Sarah pulled him toward the kitchen while his courage fled like a rat. “Look who’s here.”
A dish towel in her hands, Rachel appeared in the doorway, one of those long skirts she favored swirling around her calves. She looked wonderful…she looked too thin…tired. A half smile curved her lips. When her gaze lit on him, shock and outrage replaced the smile as she gasped.
“You.” Her voice was just as cold as he had been afraid it would be.
“Hello, Rachel.”
She opened her mouth—to order him out of the house, he was sure—then composed her face into the expressionless mask she’d worn the day he had taken her in for questioning. “Sarah, sweetie, go play with your brother.”
“Mom.”
“Now.” Rachel’s tone was as firm as he’d ever heard it.
Last spring when they had first met, Micah hadn’t thought her capable of being this stern. Then, she had been his prime suspect, odd as it seemed now, odd as it had been then. An antique dealer with wealthy patrons, providing cover for drug-smuggling and money-laundering, a business owned by two women who had been childhood friends. Neither were the sort of scum he was used to dealing with. He’d