Читать книгу Shades of Truth - Sandra Orchard - Страница 9

Never more relieved to see a shift end, Ethan grabbed his cell phone and wallet from his locker and headed for the car. The muggy air sat heavy in his chest, kind of like his day.

Being here had scraped open so many memories he felt raw.

He’d done his job—acquainted himself with the facility and their procedures, introduced himself to the daytime staff and met the residents. But he’d struggled to stay focused. The incident involving Kim presented the most promising lead, and all he’d wanted to do was follow up on it.

Reaching his car, he pulled out his phone to check the internet for her address. As the info came up, Aaron Sheppard exited the building, phone pressed to his ear.

Head down, Aaron strode toward the parking lot, talking intently.

Ethan hoped Aaron wasn’t solidifying plans to get together with Kim, because Ethan planned to stop by her place on the pretense of checking on her ankle. And he didn’t want the other man in the way, especially since he didn’t intend to leave until he figured out what she was hiding.

He opened his car door to a blast of heat that tripled the sweat sluicing down his neck. The A/C in the cheap apartment he’d rented on the east side of town had better work better tonight than it had last night or he could forget about getting any sleep. Once he wrapped up this case, he’d work on finding a house with central air, a decent yard. Maybe adopt a dog.

Two cars over, Aaron revved the engine of his green Mini Cooper and slammed down his phone. A moment later, he roared out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

Curious about what got him so riled, Ethan shoved his stick shift into First and followed.

Aaron hit Lakeshore Road and turned east toward Harbor Park. Ethan hung back so as not to be spotted.

The car circled the packed parking lot and squeezed into a space only a Mini Cooper would fit into. Ethan pulled up onto the grass three rows over.

The air smelled of heated sand and coconut oil. Sunbathers crammed the beach. Squealing children romped in the cool Lake Erie water.

Aaron shaded his eyes and scanned the crowds. He headed for a spreading maple where a group of young people huddled around a picnic table.

Ethan shed his shirt to blend in with the beachgoers and moseyed to a nearby bench.

A blonde, no more than fifteen, pushed a paper bag across the table to Aaron.

The scene had drug deal written all over it. Except the girl didn’t have the cocky attitude of an experienced seller. Her hands trembled and her gaze never lifted past the middle of Aaron’s chest.

Aaron peeked inside the bag, his expression neutral. Then he scrunched the top of the bag in his fist and said something Ethan couldn’t make out.

Ethan pulled out his cell phone and, pretending to search for a signal, snapped pictures of the three girls and two guys hanging on to Aaron’s every word. Everyone appeared more relaxed now that the exchange had been made.

People usually didn’t hang around to talk after a drug buy. So what was in the bag?

The teens moved toward the pier, and Aaron headed back to the parking lot. But he walked past his car.

Ethan maneuvered through the playground, keeping Aaron in his sights.

Aaron crossed the sidewalk in front of the ice-cream shop, but instead of going inside, he skulked along the side of the building and slipped in behind.

Ethan snuck behind the neighboring building and scaled a stack of skids in time to glimpse Aaron toss the bag in a Dumpster.

A dead drop?

Ethan ducked before Aaron could spot him. He peered through the slatted fence separating the buildings. Seagulls screeched overhead.

Ethan shrank into the shadows, but Aaron didn’t pay the noisy birds any attention. He brushed off his hands and sauntered back toward the parking lot.

As much as Ethan wanted to follow, he needed to see what was in that bag. He edged along the fence and scanned the area for signs of anyone who might be there to make the pickup. Whoever it was wouldn’t wait too long or he’d risk the bag getting buried.

The rear door of the ice cream shop opened and a teenage boy in a white apron and hairnet hauled out a trash bag. He set the bag on the cement stoop and pulled out a smoke.

Was this the pickup guy?

The kid lit up and started texting on his cell phone. Sweat glistened on his face, but that was as likely from the heat as nerves.

Ethan swiped his shirt over his own damp face, and then pulled the shirt back on.

The kid snapped shut his phone and ground his cigarette butt under his heel. As he reached for the door handle, he seemed to remember the trash bag. He opened the Dumpster and tossed in the bag without so much as glancing under the lid.

Ethan shifted his position for a better view and spotted Aaron’s Mini speeding off. If only he could be in two places at once …

Ethan forced himself to wait. Sweat trickled down his spine.

Every muscle tensed, ready to spring into action.

Five minutes passed. But no one else appeared.

Ethan squeezed past a loose board on the fence and ran for the cover of the Dumpster. He waited another full minute, scanning for any sign he’d been spotted. Seeing none, he lifted the lid.

The putrid odor of marinating garbage knocked him back.

Holding his breath, he ignored the burn of the black metal against his palms, and crawled over the side of the bin.

Aaron’s bag sat perched on a bed of trash.

Ethan snatched it up, slammed down the lid and sucked in a breath. Crouching beside the bin, he checked again to ensure no one was looking, then opened the bag.

It held two packets of white powder.

Ethan stared at the packets in confusion. If the rendezvous back there was what it looked like, why’d Aaron toss the drugs?

Had the handoff been some kind of test?

Ethan mentally reviewed what he knew about the man. A degree in community justice. Nine years’ experience at the Hamilton youth detention center with an exemplary record. Although twice he’d applied to the police force and had been passed over.

On Mr. Corbett’s recommendation, Hope Manor’s board had hired Aaron as deputy director eight months ago. Now Mr. Corbett’s sudden turn for the worse had spring-boarded Aaron to the manor’s top position, surpassing not only senior employees, but the founder’s two children.

Not that Kim appeared to hold any resentment.

On the contrary, if Aaron’s “I’ll see her tonight” could be believed, Kim considered him a friend. Maybe more than a friend.

Ethan crushed the bag in his fist and hurried to his car. He needed to know what Kim knew about Aaron Sheppard.

The instant the front door closed, Kim bolted from the couch. She’d thought Ginny would never go home.

Kim grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. If she didn’t hurry, Darryl would catch her leaving. He’d be so livid, she’d never make it to Blake’s.

Working with the residents to help them reach for a better life was so much a part of who they were, she couldn’t understand why Darryl wasn’t as determined as her to safeguard Dad’s legacy.

Kim drove to the east side of town where Blake shared a row house with his older brother. The nearby candy factory was the sole remnant of the neighborhood’s economic glory days. And as she pulled onto their street, the sickeningly sweet scent of gumdrops hung so thick in the air she could taste it.

Dingy stucco houses squatted feet from the sidewalk, their porch roofs drooping over sagging front porches as if sinking into a drunken stupor.

The odd boarded-up window added to the effect. While duct tape crisscrossed others like slashes on a desperate teen’s wrists.

Driveways were conspicuously absent. Instead, scraggly hedges offered what meager privacy was to be had from encroaching neighbors.

Here and there a rusted-out pickup languished at the curb. The sole sign of prosperity until a gust of wind chased a crumpled fast-food bag up the street and into … Blake’s white sports car.

Kim’s heart jerked. No one in this end of town drove a car like that unless they were dealing drugs.

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pulled to a stop. How had she thought she could do this?

She dropped her forehead to her hands and gave in to the shakes that had dogged her all day. Maybe Ethan was right. Maybe she should’ve called the police.

His troubled voice whispered through her mind. What are you afraid of, Kim?

She sucked in a breath. She wasn’t afraid. Not of anything Blake might do to her. Not really. She was well trained in self-defense. Not that she’d need to use it. She was here to talk.

Nothing more.

So why was she still trembling?

She pictured Dad lying in his hospital bed. She couldn’t fail him. She wouldn’t. Clasping her hands, she prayed the words she’d heard her father pray time and again. Lord, please let Blake see Your love in me.

Strengthened by the prayer, Kim stepped out of the car and limped toward Blake’s house.

The ping of a stone drew her around. But no one was there. Not on the sidewalk. Not in the minuscule weed-infested yards. Not in …

She tried to peer through the windshields of the pickups parked along the street, and through the windows of the houses, but the reflections made seeing anything impossible.

Despite temperatures that could fry an egg, a shiver fingered the back of her neck. She told herself she was being paranoid.

Even so, she clawed her keys between the fingers of her right hand and palmed her cell phone in her left.

Shouting cut into her thoughts.

Her pulse quickened. The voice sounded like Darryl’s.

She traced the sound to an open window at the side of Blake’s house, well back from the street. She should’ve known Darryl intended to confront Blake himself when he agreed so easily not to involve the police.

She edged closer, staying out of sight of the window.

Blake said something she couldn’t make out, and Darryl exploded into a rage. “If I see you within a mile of my sister, you’ll be looking at the inside of a jail cell so fast your head’ll spin.”

Blake laughed. A scoffing, ugly sound. “I go down, you go down. You hear what I’m saying?”

Shock trapped Kim’s breath in her throat. What did Blake mean?

He couldn’t possibly have anything on her brother. Darryl might have his faults—like being overprotective—but he was as honest as they came.

Darryl never should’ve told Blake they were related. They always operated on a first-name basis with residents, precisely to avoid these kinds of threats. How many times had Dad drilled that into them?

She slumped against the wall, sending an empty beer can toppling from the window ledge to the cement slab below. She froze.

“What was that noise?” Blake demanded. Chair legs abruptly scraped the floor.

Kim sprang to her feet and sprinted toward the street. Her ankle screamed, but instinct propelled her. Never mind that Darryl would never let Blake hurt her.

The keys dug into her clenched fist. Her heart pounded in her ears. She heard a sound behind her. But she didn’t dare glance back.

She cleared the hedge bordering the yard and skidded to a stop.

Two grungy-looking punks were circling her car. Slowly. Deliberately. Peering in windows. Trying the doors. One of them—a pockmarked teen with jeans sagging to his knees—slapped a baseball bat against his palm, looking ready to take a swing at her windshield.

Icy fear shot through her veins. She backed up a step.

The second kid crouched next to her tires and pulled a knife from his pocket.

Behind her a door slammed. Darryl?

She opened her mouth to yell for help, but the word died in her throat. So far those punks hadn’t seen her. Better to keep it that way.

A truck roared to life.

“There she is,” the kid with the knife yelled.

Baseball Bat shot her a poisonous glare.

For an instant she froze, stunned by the seething hatred in his eyes. How did they know her? What did they want?

Too late she turned and cried out. Her brother was speeding away.

The punks chewed the distance between them.

She ducked behind the hedge and scrabbled down Blake’s side yard. Her ankle throbbed. Shallow breaths from her throat. She should have listened to Ethan.

Footfalls pounded behind her. Louder. Closer. Matching the frantic beat of her heart.

The instant she passed the house, Blake’s rear screen door slapped open. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Kim cut across a neighboring yard to the next street. Sweat dripped into her eyes, burning them. She couldn’t run much longer. Her gaze darted from side to side, desperately seeking a hiding place. The candy factory’s near-empty parking lot swam in her vision. “Help!” she screamed.

Fifty yards ahead of her a dark figure exploded from the bushes.

No. No. No! She veered left and raced across the deserted street. Her ankle turned on a pothole. Searing pain cut off her breath, hauling her to a stop.

A gunshot cracked the air.

Expecting to feel the sting of a bullet, she dove for the dirt. Her phone flew out of her grip, skidded across the scalding blacktop.

A merciless hand closed around her arm and yanked her to her feet.

Desperate to break free, she flailed her arms and drew breath to scream.

Her assailant slapped his palm over her mouth, pulled her head against his rock-hard chest. “Quiet,” he growled. He clamped his other arm around her middle, pinning her arms to her side, and dragged her into the overgrown bushes bordering the candy factory.

She fought for air, struggling all the harder against his iron grip.

Branches clawed at her hair. Thorny twigs scratched her face.

Suddenly, she remembered the keys spiked through her fingers, and speared them into his thigh.

He roared, but his grip didn’t slacken.