Shadows Of Truth. Sharon Mignerey

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      TWO

      The following morning, Rachel headed for work, hearing her father’s voice in her head. “Be bold as a lion, Rachel,” had been his advice right after Angela’s arraignment last spring. “Only the guilty have reason to hide in the dark.” Except, she felt guilty, even if only by association.

      As her dad had said to her recently, the words didn’t offer comfort. Though she still heard his voice in her head, she no longer confused it with God. Though her loss of faith had hurt her father, she couldn’t pretend to believe.

      These days she related most to Job’s trials. Like the biblical figure, Rachel was sure there could be no purpose to all she had endured over the last several years—the death of her husband when an aneurysm had burst in his abdomen, the betrayal by her best friend, the loss of her business. Unlike Job, she thought of fleeing, though she had no idea where she would go or whether she would be able to make things better for her children.

      “As with Job,” her father had told her, “all this is a test of faith.”

      “Is that the category for your visits to Angela? A test?”

      He’d looked genuinely shocked. “Of course not. She’s in need of my care, of spiritual guidance.”

      “Even though she betrayed me?”

      “Especially because of that.” And, as he’d said a thousand times before, he had told her, “My ministry to another doesn’t lessen my love for you.”

      “Your visits to her feel like another betrayal,” Rachel had confessed angrily.

      He’d looked at her sternly, then, in the way that had always, always made her obey him. “You know better than that. Prayer and study will show you that that is as ridiculous as your assertion that God has abandoned you. I’m so disappointed in you.”

      Like the Look, his “I’m so disappointed” speech usually guaranteed she’d strive to please him even as the phrase cut her to the quick. But for the first time in her life, she had retreated, feeling lost and confused and emotionally abandoned. Now she no longer called her father except to make arrangements for her children to visit him.

      She felt as though the support, understanding and compassion she wanted for herself had been given away to others, especially Angela. And, her dad seemed to believe she was asking him to choose between his ministry and her. Yet she had simply wanted some of his boundless compassion for herself. Maybe the wanting made her selfish, but she hadn’t been able to banish it.

      Seven blocks from her home, she drove past the brick-front building that had housed Victorian Rose Antiques. The green awning shaded the front window, which still posted the sign that the business had been closed by the DEA. Since their merchandise was tainted by the drug trade, it had been seized. The day Angela had been arraigned, the bank had called in the loan that had secured the purchase of all that merchandise.

      And now it was all her problem.

      Rachel’s daily refrain echoed in her head. What in the world had Angela been thinking? Even Angela herself hadn’t been able to answer. All Rachel knew was that Angela had plea-bargained the charges against her and provided the names that had led Agent Micah McLeod to the bigger fish he had really been after.

      But was that bigger fish now after her?

      Rachel’s hands grew clammy with the memory of the rock shattering the window and bringing her out of a restless sleep. Since she no longer had the e-mail or the letter with their simple, one-line demands—I want my $500,000—the police had no reason to think the rock was anything more than a prank. She had told them about the notes, immediately knowing how lame her story sounded.

      “Call us,” the investigating officer had told her, “if another note comes.” A month had passed since then, and until Micah McLeod had showed up yesterday afternoon, she had hoped the police were right about the rock and notes being a prank.

      The fear was back, and she hated it.

      Think about today, she told herself. Today would be a good day because of the appointment she had after work. Jane Clark, one of her best—and wealthiest—clients from the antique shop, had a referral for Rachel. The whispered promise of returning to the work that she loved sang through her. Today, she reminded herself, was a new day.

      After a half-hour on the road, Rachel parked her car behind one of the hotels that lined I-70. She went through the service entrance, clocked in and went to work for the first of her three jobs—this one as a maid.

      She was so used to being invisible that she didn’t even look twice when a man came out of one of the rooms and approached her. His steps slowed, and she looked up.

      Micah McLeod, his dark-brown eyes steady on her.

      Her heart gave a familiar lurch—it always did when she saw him. She didn’t want to notice that he looked good, but he did. He wore jeans, a Western-style shirt, cowboy boots and a Stetson with the ease of a man who had grown up in the clothes rather than adopting them like some packaged country-music singer. She knew under his hat was a full head of hair, the dark strands liberally streaked with gray.

      She forced herself to look away and wished he would walk right past her, somehow knowing that he wouldn’t. He came to a halt next to her cart, blocking her way back into the room she was cleaning.

      “What in the world are you doing here?” he asked.

      “Working.” She stuffed the linens she had just stripped off a bed into the hamper at the bottom of the cart.

      “Working,” he repeated. “Why?”

      A sharp retort was at the tip of her tongue when she noticed one of the hotel managers at the end of the hall. Jason Laird, a young man fresh out of college. His pretentious attitude grated more often than not, and he had made it clear maids were to be seen and not heard.

      “For the usual reasons,” she said managing to keep annoyance out of her voice as Jason came closer. “Is there something you need?”

      “Not anything you can give me here.” Micah turned around to see who she was watching.

      “Good morning, sir,” Jason said to Micah. “Is everything okay?”

      “Fine,” he responded.

      “Enjoy your stay.” Jason raised an eyebrow at her and cocked his head toward the room she was cleaning, his unspoken message as clear as a command. Get back to work.

      Rachel pulled clean sheets from her cart while Micah stood there watching her as though she were some exotic species he was studying in a zoo. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said as she brushed past him.

      He followed her into the room. “If you’re going to work in a hotel, why not turn your house into a bed-and-breakfast like you once talked about?”

      The suggestion frayed her temper. How could he know so much about her hopes and dreams when she had clearly known nothing about his? Once he had told her about a ranch in Wyoming, his description of a home so vivid she had imagined living there. Like everything else last spring, that had most likely been a lie, too.

      She snapped a clean sheet open and it СКАЧАТЬ