Hope and Honor

By Marilee Brothers

Life is becoming more complicated for soul reader Honor Melanie ‘Mel” Sullivan. Her boss needs help with his rebellious teen daughter who believes rules are made to be broken and her current boyfriend Homeland Security agent Mick Petrov is becoming an absentee lover, dropping hints about a major decision he faces. To make it worse, Mel’s ex, 3 Peaks detective ‘Billy the Kid’ McCarty wants her back. And those aren’t the only challenges… When a paramilitary group called New Dawn wants her soul-reading skills, Mel meets five-year-old twins who steal her heart. Unwilling to abandon the motherless children, she strikes a deal with the compound’s charismatic leader. Drawn deeper and deeper into New Dawn’s twisted agenda, Mel must figure out a way to save the twins and herself before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781509218714

Marilee Brothers

Marilee Brothers is a former teacher, coach, counselor and the author of ten books. Marilee and her husband are the parents of three grown sons and live in central Washington State. After writing six young adult books, Marilee is once again writing romantic suspense for the adult market. She loves hearing from people who have read her books. Feel free to contact her at http://www.marileebrothers.com.Her author page on Facebook is: www.facebook.com/marilee.author and she occasionally tweets @MarileeB. Marilee’s blog is Book Blather, http://bookblatherblog.blogspot.com where she features aspiring and published authors as well as some tidbits of her own.

Book preview

America

Chapter One

This is my colleague, Detective McKenzie, Candy Talbot says, tipping her head in my direction.

Talbot and I are across the table from a whiney, ferret-faced individual with greasy black hair and a sporadic twitch in his left eye. The twitch complicates my job, since it’s up to me to determine whether or not he’s lying. Some call me a human lie detector. I prefer the term soul seeker.

The title ‘Detective McKenzie’ is fake, just like the blond wig and dark-rimmed glasses I’m wearing. My real name is Honor Melanie—Mel—Sullivan. I’m not an officer of the law, but a paid consultant, hired by the 3 Peaks Police Department. Although the results of my unique skill set are not admissible in court, the detectives use my lie-detecting ability to decide whether or not to pursue charges against possible lawbreakers.

Candy shuffles papers and gives me a significant look. When I don’t respond, she kicks me under the table. Oh, yeah, my turn. We’re still getting out act together, Candy and me. We’ll never be besties, but we make a pretty good crime-fighting team. I lean forward with a winsome smile, doing my best to look friendly and unintimidating. I have a couple of questions, Dwayne. Is it okay if I call you Dwayne?

His eyes narrow in suspicion. What the hell is this? Good cop, bad cop?

Note to self: cut back the smile wattage. I believe you have a girlfriend by the name of Judy Moss.

Former girlfriend, he mumbles, left eyelid fluttering like a wounded moth.

I stare into the non-twitching eye. She filed a complaint against you. Her right arm is in a sling. Her left eye is blackened. She says you did it.

His eyes widen and he snarls, Bullshit, the sling is fake and she punched herself in the face. She’s a human cuckoo clock.

Candy shifts in her chair. I know she’s dying to lock Dwayne in a steel cage and throw away the key.

So, Dwayne, I continue. Why would she beat herself up and fake a broken arm?

His lips curl into a sneer, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. I just told you. She’s got no toys in the attic. He aims his pointer finger at his temple and twirls it, the universal sign for mental disorders, also known as crazy.

Candy and I remain silent while Dwayne searches his impoverished memory banks for a plausible excuse.

Finally, he says, I’m guessing she’s pissed at me. His voice trails off. He slumps in his chair.

Because…?

She threw all my shit onto the front lawn and changed the locks.

I think it’s safe to assume she’s pissed at you, I say. Did that happen after you punched her?

He snaps to attention and glares at me. "I told you, I never hit her. The bitch is into revenge. She wants to punish me for a little mistake I made."

Tell us about your little mistake.

He hangs his head and mumbles, I slept with her old lady. She kept coming on to me and she’s not bad looking. I felt sorry for her.

So, it was a pity thing.

He stares into my eyes. Exactly. What’s a guy supposed to do?

Candy snaps, Keep it in your pants.

I stand. Detective Talbot and I need to confer. We’ll be right back.

We huddle together in the hall.

He’s a creep, but he didn’t do it, I say.

Candy’s eyes narrow. Aw, come on, Mel. He’s got guilt written all over him.

He may be guilty of screwing his girlfriend’s mother, but he did not beat up Judy Moss.

Candy likes to second-guess me. I’ve learned to trust my soul-reading ability and stand my ground.

You’re sure?

I sigh. Yes, Candy, I’m sure. Did she go to the hospital to get checked out after Dwayne supposedly beat her up?

She didn’t say.

"Okay, bring her in and let me look into her soul. Sound like a plan?

Candy sulks for a moment, but finally nods in agreement.

Okey dokey, then. Let me know when you need me. Gotta run. It’s moving day for Mel.

Her eyes brighten with curiosity. Moving out of Nick’s?

Yep, catch ya later.

As I dash down the hall, I hear her call, Hey, wait. I need details.

Actually, she doesn’t. She’s being nosey, probably wondering if I’m back with Billy the Kid, now a detective with the 3 Peaks Police Department. Speaking of whom steps out of his cubicle just in time to make full body contact with yours truly. He places his hands on my shoulders and gazes into my eyes, making no attempt to put space between us.

I take a step back, even though my body instinctively wants to curl into his, like it did before our relationship flamed out and became a pile of ashes. Well, maybe not ashes. A few smoldering embers remain, waiting for a chance to re-ignite.

Whoa, it’s Minnie Mouse in disguise. What’s the hurry?

No more motel living for me, I state proudly. Steve is moving in with his boyfriend and subletting his place to me. I fish the key out of my pocket to prove my point. My car’s packed. Today’s the day.

The warmth of his smile reaches his eyes. Need any help?

I fully understand the subtext of the question. It has to do with the off-and-on-again relationship I have with my Homeland Security boyfriend, Mick Petrov. Billy is checking to see if he’s in town. That’s the off-and-on part. Mick is a great guy. I know he cares about me. He’s an ideal boyfriend when he’s around. Attentive. Loving. Generous. The problem is, he’s on an upwardly mobile career path. His undercover assignments may last for weeks, during which time we have no communication. As far as Mick is concerned, huge gaps in our relationship are part of the job, and I can take it or leave it. I’m still trying to decide if this works for me.

I pretend to take Billy’s question at face value. I can manage. Thanks, though.

He looks disappointed. "Call if you need me."

Billy has a competitive nature and has thrown his hat into the ring, so to speak, in an effort to renew our relationship. Mick is well aware of Billy’s intentions. Thankfully, no animosity exists between the two. It’s more of a good-natured contest to see who will win my heart, affection and unconventional soul. It’s a life complication I don’t need.

I thank Billy for his offer of help and head for the parking lot. Buttercup, my ancient Toyota Tercel, is fully packed. There’s just enough room for me to squeeze behind the wheel. The passenger seat includes a cat bed, and a container of kibble and cat toys. The cat is not present. His name is Thunder Paws and he lives at Nick’s Sports Bar and Grill. I’m a part-time waitress at Nick’s. It’s also been my home for the last nine months, namely motel unit Number Ten.

Nick, my boss and owner of the pub repeatedly tells me, Mel, you cannot move cats. They are territorial critters.

I disagree. He’s used to sleeping in Number Ten. When I’m gone, you’ll be renting it out and he’ll be banging on the door of complete strangers.

The big-footed tomcat doesn’t demand entry by yowling. He stands on his hind legs and pounds his front paws against the door. Hence, the name Thunder Paws. My cat-moving experiment might not work, but I have to try. Otherwise, I’ll be stricken with a guilty conscience as I imagine poor Thunder Paws pounding on my darkened door to no avail.

I stuff my wig and fake glasses into the glove compartment and steer Buttercup toward my new home. My cell phone rings when I pull up into the driveway. It’s Nick.

His voice sounds strained. Hey, Mel. I need your help with something.

You want me to come into work? I thought I was off today.

Um, well, no. It’s something else.

I wait for him to explain, but he doesn’t. I want to say, It’s my day off. I’m moving. Blah, blah, blah, but I say none of these things. Nick was responsible for getting me on my feet when I arrived in 3 Peaks, Oregon with my meager possessions in a single backpack. He rarely asks for help. I owe him. Besides, he sounds so strange, my curiosity is piqued.

Sure, I’ll dump this load and be there in a flash.

When he speaks, I hear the relief in his voice. Thanks, kid. See you soon.

Before I click off he says, Oh, yeah, Kendra’s looking for you. I let her into your room. She brought―

The screen on my cell fades to black. Dead.

Damn, where the heck is my phone charger? Did I pack it? Is it still in Number Ten? Questions without answers make me nuts. Like, what is the deal with Kendra? Nick said she’s brought…something or somebody? Kendra is Billy’s sister and my best friend in 3 Peaks. We’ve been through a series of adventures together, some successful, some scary and some downright ridiculous.

And, while I’m pondering unanswered questions, what’s up with Nick?

Chapter Two

My promise to hurry goes sideways when I step through the door. The first thing I see is a banner attached to the living room wall. It says,

"Welcome to your new home, mi hija.

May you collect wonderful memories within these walls."

A small dining room table holds a glass bowl filled with fresh flowers and, on the kitchen counter, I spy a box filled with my favorite pastries next to the coffee pot. Bio dad Steve knows me well.

I drop my armload of cat accessories and scamper around, opening cupboards, closets and drawers. After living in a motel, basically one small room and a bath, I feel like Marie Antoinette in Versailles.

Reluctantly, I lock up, head back to Nick’s and park in front of Number Ten. The door opens and Kendra steps out. She greets me with a wave and beckons me into the room. A pet carrier big enough for an eighty-pound dog sets in the middle of the bed. I give her a questioning look.

It’s for Thunder Paws, when you move him to your new place.

I’ll have to rent a pickup truck to haul it.

She waves a dismissive hand. No worries. We’ll make it fit. All you have to do is move the front seats forward.

Or, I say, We could use your minivan. We know that’ll work because you brought it over.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Uh-uh, no way. I’m not getting involved in a cat-moving venture. Huge potential for disaster. I can’t afford to lose an eye. I have small children who depend on me."

Speaking of which, who’s watching the kidlets? Aida?

She opens her eyes and nods. "I’m so loving the mother’s helper concept. And since Aida loves babies, it’s a win-win. Right?" She holds out a fist for me to bump.

Absolutely, I say. She’s happiest when she’s knee-deep in babies.

Aida, originally from Kazakhstan, is married to my Uncle Paco, aka, the head honcho of the Los Habañeros motorcycle gang and heavily involved in a don’t-ask, don’t-tell business. Paco adores Aida and her baby Larissa. Larissa is the result of an evil human trafficking, baby-selling scheme.

Now, Kendra continues, I’ll have more time to help you with your cases, like when you look into a sketchy soul and decide more investigation is called for.

I choke back a snicker. Great, as soon as we move the cat, we’ll get started.

Her eyes widen. Seriously? You have something in mind? Kendra fancies herself a master of intrigue, complete with disguises.

I’m stringing her along because I have an agenda. I point at the carrier. After the cat transfer.

She rolls her eyes and curses under her breath. Okay, let’s get it done.

I have to talk to Nick first. He needs help with something.

She grabs the TV remote and flops down on the bed next to the pet carrier. No hurry. I’ll enjoy a little me time.

I see the girl when I walk to the back door of the pub. She’s sitting on the back steps, elbows resting on her knees, chin braced in the palm of her right hand. Her hair is dyed black, the ends tinged in pink. Her jeans are fashionably ragged. Her dark hooded sweatshirt is emblazoned with an image from a popular Goth band, the outline of two faces, their big sad eyes looking to the left, both adorned with bright red lips. Men’s platform boots complete the outfit.

She glances up as I approach. Her eyes, heavily lined with kohl, are an unusual shade of brown and flecked with amber. A light sprinkling of freckles on her nose tells me her natural hair color is much lighter. She doesn’t hold my gaze long enough for me to peer into her soul.

Hi. I smile and step around her to reach for the back door.

Her response is a muffled, Yeah.

When my hand hits the doorknob, a throaty rowr signals the arrival of Thunder Paws. He bounds past the girl and rubs against the back of my legs. The message is clear. Feed me now or you’ll be sorry.

I bend down and scratch behind his ears, taking care to avoid his squinty-eyed glare. You’ll have to wait, pal, so chill.

The girl on the stairs doesn’t bother to turn around, apparently disinterested in human-cat interactions.

I find Nick in his office, slumped over his desk in a pose not unlike the girl on his back stoop and plop down in a chair next to his desk. There’s a Goth girl sitting on the steps. Know anything about her?

He heaves a huge sigh. Yeah, she’s my daughter and the reason I called you.

I gasp in surprise. You have a daughter?

He rubs his bristly chin. When she was four, her mom and I got divorced. My ex moved to Minneapolis, took the kid with her. I had visitation rights, twice a year. It worked for a while. When she got older, she didn’t want to come out here. I should have insisted, but I took the easy route and let it go. What did I know about raising a kid? Especially a girl. The pub was brand new then. I was spending hours here, trying to make a go of it. He pauses and shakes his head. Big mistake on my part.

I take a moment to digest the information. Looks like she changed her mind.

Her mother changed it for her.

Because…?

Nick sighs again. She got kicked out of school. Her mom said she can’t deal with her anymore, that it’s my turn to step up and be a father.

I know Nick is guilt-ridden, but what the hell is wrong with the girl’s mother? She suddenly decides it’s too much trouble to be a parent, so she throws the kid under the bus and says, I’m all done. You fix her. What do you want me to do?

Damn. Nick lifts his hands in a helpless gesture. You’re closer to her age than I am and, of course, you’re a girl, so I thought maybe you could hang out with her, maybe do some girl stuff. Aw, hell, I don’t know.

How old is she?

Sixteen.

Have you enrolled her in school?

I tried, but it’s March and the middle of a semester. She’ll have to go to an alternative program until next fall. Then, if her attendance and grades are okay, she can go to a regular high school. He pauses and rubs his temples. From what of I’ve seen of her grades, that scenario doesn’t look promising.

I feel a pang of empathy for the kid on the back steps. Sounds like she’s a complete disaster, not unlike myself at her age. I say softly. Does she have a name?

With a ghost of a smile, Nick stands and strides out of the office. I hear the back door open and a muttered exchange of words. He returns, herding the girl in front of him like she’s an errant sheep returning to the flock. Nick says, This is my daughter, Ziggy.

I rise and hold out my hand. Nice to meet you, Ziggy. I’m Mel.

She doesn’t grip my hand, just gives it a little swipe before jamming both hands into her pockets. You his girlfriend or something?

Nick is normally unflappable, but a flush rises in his cheeks.

I step in quickly. No, I’m a waitress here. Your dad helped me when I first moved to 3 Peaks and didn’t have a job or a place to live.

She leans against the wall and casts a sideways glance at Nick. Goody for him.

I try to keep my irritation from showing. "Actually, it was good of him. Otherwise, I’d have been homeless."

She shrugs like she doesn’t care. I wait her out. Finally, she lifts her head and gazes into my eyes. Exactly what I hoped she would do. Her soul is a kaleidoscope of colors, indicating the emotional distress she’s experiencing. I see no sign of an evil nature. She’s just a mixed up teenage girl who doesn’t know which way to jump. After an uncomfortable silence, I say, Ziggy is a very unusual name. Where did it come from?

The corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s trying to hold back a grin. It’s actually Zelda Ignatius. She points at Nick. He can tell you all about it.

Nick chuckles. Finally, you’re asking me a question I can answer. My ex wife is Greek and a big time reader. She insisted on naming our daughter Zelda, because she liked the author F. Scott Fitzgerald. Ignatius is the Greek word for fiery one. Early on, we shortened it to Ziggy. He pulls a wallet from his back pocket, opens it and withdraws a picture. He slides it across the desk. "Check it out. It explains the Ignatius part.’

The photo is tattered around the edges and the colors have faded. But, it’s obviously a younger Nick, smiling broadly and cradling an infant in the crook of his arm. An infant with fiery red hair.

I look over at Ziggy. So, you’re a red head. Cool.

She narrows her eyes at me. Ya think so? How about when you get called Agent Orange, Trusty Rusty, Bushfire or Chucky? Is that cool?

I ignore the attitude. Actually, I dyed my hair red when I was about your age. Guess we’re never happy with what we’re born with.

Whatever.

I give up on trying to bond with the sullen teen and turn to Nick. So, is Ziggy all settled in your place? What’s next?

Nick pushes his chair back and stands. Um, I need to talk to you about that. In private.

Ziggy rolls her eyes again. Okay, I get it. You want me outta here so you can talk like grownups, even though this Mel person looks like she’s about my age.

For your information, I’m twenty-three years old which, in case you’re not good at math, is seven years older than you.

She mumbles, Whatever, again, pushes off the wall and leaves the office.

I’m feeling a little guilty for my hostility. Also worried. Shall I follow her? Maybe she’ll run.

Nick pulls a battered suitcase out from under his desk. She won’t leave without her stuff. Cell phone. Purse. Laptop. Clothes.

What do you want to ask me?

Well, um, since you’re moving out of Number Ten, shall I move her in?

I can’t believe what I’m hearing and catapult to my feet. A motel room? Are you crazy? She’s sixteen years old! Doesn’t your place have two bedrooms?

He avoids my gaze. Well, yeah, but I thought maybe she needed her own space, being a girl and all.

I blow out an exasperated sigh. Nick, stop with the girl thing. She’s just a mixed up kid who needs parental guidance. The minute I utter the phrase parental guidance, I’m horrified. As a teen, whenever I was invited to a party, my mother, Sandra’s default question was, "Will there be parental guidance?’

When did I turn into my mother?

Chapter Three

After Ziggy is settled in Nick’s apartment above the pub, I enlist her, along with Kendra, to participate in cat removal. Nobody on my team is enthusiastic. Because of Nick’s negativity, I make him promise to provide Thunder Paws with a cathouse in case the move doesn’t work out. He reluctantly agrees.

Ziggy is sitting on the front stoop of Number Ten looking sulky as I launch my plan. The pet carrier is on the pavement next to Kendra’s minivan, loaded with an open can of tuna. Albacore, not the cheap stuff. Kendra and I stand nearby, trying to act casual, even though we’re ready to spring into action. Thunder Paws is tempted, but wary. He sneaks up on the carrier, his body slinking low.

Get ready, I whisper.

The cat places a tentative paw inside the carrier, then stops and glances over his shoulder at us, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Nice kitty, I murmur.

He bares his teeth in a snarl and backs away from the carrier.

Ziggy says, That cat hates you. Why are you trying to move him?

He doesn’t hate me, I say indignantly. He’s just not very affectionate. All I want to do is give him a good home.

Kendra says, He’s an alley cat. He recognizes a trap when he sees one. Otherwise he wouldn’t have survived all these years. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you should just let him be.

I recognize the truth of her statement, but once I embark on a plan, I have to carry it through. New plan, I say. Billy offered to help me move. Shall I call him?

Kendra gives an evil chuckle. Yes, I like this idea. If anyone is going to get scratched, it should be Billy.

Ever since Billy and I broke up last fall, Kendra has been ticked off at him. Long story. Ancient history.

Who’s Billy? Ziggy says. She plunges a hand into the pocket of her hoodie, extracts a cigarette and lighter. She fires it up and inhales deeply.

Kendra and I exchange a glance. I’d like nothing more than to slap the cigarette out of her mouth, but decide the issue can wait until another time. Like when we bond and she learns to love me. Like when hell freezes over and pigs dance the polka.

Kendra, however, chimes in. My car is a smoke-free zone, so you’d best smoke it down fast.

Ziggy gestures at the cat. He’s stalking away from the trap. Looks like I’ve got plenty of time unless you think that guy can catch him. Whoever Billy is.

I pull out my cell phone.

He answers on the first ring. Hey, Minnie, what can I do for you?

I don’t mention Thunder Paws. Guess I need a little help after all.

At your new place?

Number Ten.

Be right there.

I don’t mention Kendra or Ziggy because I know the words Number Ten evoke a certain response in Billy the Kid. It’s no different for me. Billy was my first love and, within the walls of Number Ten, we explored each other’s bodies with the heated passion of a brand-new relationship. Until it wasn’t new anymore and, like Snow White, Billy drifted. But