Loe raamatut: «Shades of Truth»
“You were going to talk to a guy who ran you down in broad daylight? What were you thinking?”
Kim’s expression hardened. “I was thinking about the damage that rumors of a hit-and-run by a former resident would do to the manor. I don’t expect you to understand, Ethan. You’ve only been here a day. You couldn’t possibly care about the manor’s survival the way I do.”
The woman was as loyal and compassionate as they came. How could he have suspected her of trying to protect a drug dealer?
“I’m sorry, Kim. I was out of line. Believe me, I want to help you.” More importantly, he wanted to get her out of here before the police connected her—or him—to the shooting. The last thing he needed was a cop unraveling his cover. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
In the meantime, he needed descriptions of the kids vandalizing Kim’s car, because chances were good one of them had shot Blake, or had seen who did. And Ethan needed to talk to them before the wrong cop got to them. Or Kim.
Witnesses in this case had a bad habit of showing up dead.
SHADES
of TRUTH
SANDRA ORCHARD
MILLS & BOON
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The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind.
—Isaiah 65:17
To Kate Weichelt, story doctor extraordinaire
and a real-life heroine, who lost her 20+ year
battle with cancer this past summer.
She remains a true inspiration to all who knew her.
Thanks to
My husband, Michael, for his unwavering support
and encouragement. And to my children.
You’re the best!
To Beth Fahnestock, the inspiration
for my heroine’s career and the
untiring answerer of all my job-related questions.
To my critiquers and brainstorming buddies,
Kate Weichelt, Vicki Talley McCollum,
Wenda Dottridge and Laurie Benner for their
encouragement and invaluable suggestions.
To my prayer warriors, Angie Breidenbach,
Lisa Jamieson and Patti Jo Moore.
And most importantly, thanks to my Lord Jesus
for the greatest love of all.
ONE
Taking this undercover assignment in Miller’s Bay, Ontario, was a bad idea. Too many reminders of his own screwed-up youth.
Ethan Reed trailed Darryl Corbett, the son of the detention facility’s founder, into the yard full of teenage boys. The mixed teams of staff and residents on the baseball field underscored the center’s buddylike approach to rehabilitation, but the barbed-wire perimeter glinting in the summer sun hammered home the reality.
While Darryl itemized the characteristics that set Hope Manor apart from government-run facilities, Ethan’s thoughts drifted to the reason for his secret recruitment from outside the Canadian border town’s tight-knit police force. Whoever was luring residents into becoming drug pushers had inside connections. Inside the manor. And inside the police force.
At first glance the youths looked like average kids in their saggy pants and oversize T-shirts, minus iPods dangling from their ears and ball caps askew on their heads. But Ethan didn’t miss the hand signals gang members flashed when they thought no one was watching, or the scars on their faces from fighting, or the burns on their skin from initiations.
The facility forbade wearing gang colors, but restrained rivalry was evident in their defiant swaggers and icy stare downs. They tried to look tough, but most of them were cowards who saw nothing wrong with three guys swarming a lone stray, like a pack of wolves circling their dinner.
A foul ball bounced in front of Darryl, who tossed it to the kid on the pitcher’s mound. “Basically, you’re expected to engage the residents in whatever activities interest them. If you’re any good at coaxing them to open up to you and talk out their problems, all the better.”
Ethan grunted. He’d better be good at getting the boys to talk, because whoever was recruiting these kids had neglected to mention short life expectancy in the job description.
An engine’s roar ricocheted off the brick building. Then a scream—urgent, terrified and female—pierced the air.
Ethan’s attention snapped to the perimeter, but a wall of pine trees blocked his view.
“That sounded like Kim,” Darryl said. “My sister.”
Ethan sprinted for the gate and yanked on the lock. “You got a key?”
“No!” Darryl raced for the building.
Ethan pictured the maze of locked corridors between them and the front exit and dug his fingers into the chain link. “I’ll meet you out front.” He bolted up the fifteen-foot fence, crushed the slanted barbed wire in his fist and vaulted over the top. Pine needles scratched his arms and face on the way down. He crashed through the trees, cresting the hill in three seconds flat. Not quickly enough to ID the vehicle squealing away. But soon enough to glimpse the blip of its single brake light rounding the corner. A few strides further, he spotted a woman wearing shorts and a sky-blue jogging tank crumpled in the ditch. Her muddied running shoe lay inches from a tire track carved in the dirt.
He skidded down the grassy embankment still slick from last night’s storm. A hit-and-run outside his newest undercover gig. Coincidence?
Not if Chief Hanson was right and there was a dirty cop taking bribes to sabotage the investigation. A cop that had somehow found out about Ethan’s mission.
Hitting level ground, Ethan broke into a sprint and grabbed for his phone.
Argh! He didn’t have it. A security risk, Darryl had said. A resident might swipe it. Ethan’s gaze shot to the driveway. Where was Darryl? They needed to call an ambulance.
Long chestnut hair hid the woman’s face, and the image of another jogger slammed into his thoughts. Fifteen years later and he could still picture her broken body. Blocking out the memory, he dropped to his knees at the victim’s side.
She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, in remarkable shape, but breathing way too fast and shallow.
“Miss, can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t move.
And the sight of her motionless body—too much like Joy’s—had a stranglehold on his gut. “Miss,” he repeated, more urgently this time. “Can you hear me?”
She fixed him with a startled gaze—luminous, rich green and so undeniably alive it kick-started his heart and sent it hurtling into overdrive.
Kim Corbett squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them, but the dark-haired stranger with the shaky voice didn’t evaporate. His muscular build blotted out the sun, washing him in a halo of light. Kim blinked again, this time noting the rapid rise and fall of the man’s chest, the bunched neck muscles that signaled a readiness to explode into action and, most surprising of all, the look of terror in his dark eyes.
She averted her gaze, swallowed the coppery taste coating her mouth. Ditch water seeped through her shirt and her ankle screamed, but she didn’t feel too bad. Although, given this guy’s worried scrutiny, she must look a mess. She swiped at her mud-streaked hair. “Who are you?”
“Ethan Reed, Hope Manor’s new youth-care worker,” he said, and the unexpected hitch in his rumbly voice sent a tingle racing up her spine.
Darryl staggered into her peripheral vision. “You okay?” he asked between gulps of air.
Embarrassed by the fuss she’d caused, she struggled to push onto her elbows.
“Don’t move.” The man—Ethan—clamped his hands at the base of her skull, rendering her immobile.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“You could have a spinal injury.”
“My shift starts in ten minutes. I need to punch in.”
“You need to stay still until the paramedics get here.”
“Paramedics?” Kim tried to squirm free of Ethan’s hold. If he called for paramedics, the police wouldn’t be far behind. They’d ask her if she’d recognized the car, the driver. And if they figured out that an ex-resident almost ran her down, it would be the final nail in Hope Manor’s coffin.
She couldn’t let that happen. Not after Dad had poured his life into this place. “I don’t need a paramedic,” she protested, but the more she wriggled, the firmer Ethan held her, his hands astonishingly gentle for being so strong.
“Trust me,” he said with a gravity that made her stop struggling. “You can never be too careful. What were you doing out here, anyway?”
“I always jog to work when the weather’s nice.”
The color drained from Darryl’s face. “Your neck’s bleeding.”
“It is?” She reached up to find the source, and Ethan caught her pinky between his first two fingers.
“No,” he said, halting her probing with a quick squeeze of his fingers. “It’s my hand.”
Ignoring the jolt of his touch, she tugged back her hand. “You’re bleeding?” she squeaked, and tried again to sit up.
“It’s nothing,” he said, continuing to brace her neck with that infernally stubborn grip.
“Nothing?” Darryl gaped at Ethan with something akin to awe. “It’s a wonder the barbed wire didn’t tear your arms to shreds. You’re crazy, man. I don’t know how you climbed that fence. Everyone’s gonna try it now.”
Kim gaped. “You climbed the fence?”
Ethan actually blushed, but his eyes never left her face. “Darryl, did you tell someone to call 9-1-1?”
“No, I—”
“The car didn’t touch me,” Kim said, quickly. “I dove clear when I saw it coming. I’m okay, really.”
She’d be even better if they’d just forget the whole thing.
“Humor me until the paramedics get here, okay?”
She took a deep breath, hoping the scent of fresh-mown hay would calm her rattled nerves, but only succeeded in drawing in the musky scent of the man cradling her neck.
His thumb traced the scar along her jaw. And a tiny frown tugged at his lips.
It didn’t help that his chocolate-brown eyes radiated protective concern. It was enough to make a girl forget the ache in her ankle, to forget the fear that had flung her into a ditch, even to forget that she was much too busy saving Hope Manor to let her heart flutter over some ruggedly good-looking guy with a surplus of knightlike qualities.
Except, she couldn’t forget. The upsurge in drug-related incidents around Miller’s Bay had only fueled the lobbying efforts of the people determined to shut down the center.
Instead of running in to call an ambulance, Darryl hunkered down beside her. “Did you see who did this to you?”
“It all happened so fast.” She shrank from the memory of the white sports car barreling across the asphalt. No matter how the incident had looked, Blake wouldn’t have targeted her deliberately. Never. Why would he want to hurt her?
No reason. None at all.
“You must’ve seen something,” Darryl pressed. “The kind of car? Color?”
Kim glanced nervously at Ethan. “Um, white, I think.” She pursed her lips and gave her brother a silent don’t-ask-anymore-questions glare, followed by a surreptitious head tilt toward the manor. She grappled to find the newspaper she’d been carrying. One look at the headline and Darryl would guess why she couldn’t say anything in front of Ethan.
“I know you’re scared,” Ethan soothed, apparently misreading her jerky movements, “but every detail you can remember will help the police find this guy. Did you see if the driver was male or female?”
“Male,” she said reluctantly. “But I’m sure he didn’t see me. He was probably fiddling with his radio. He wouldn’t have expected to pass a pedestrian on these back roads.”
“You’re defending him? He sent you flying into a ditch and didn’t even stop to make sure you were okay.”
Her cheeks heated at the intensity of Ethan’s disapproval. “I’m sure if he’d realized, he would’ve stopped. No need to make a big deal about this.” The slightest negative publicity at this point would destroy any hope of convincing the province to reverse its funding decision.
Ethan’s eyes sparked. “What about next time?”
“Next time?”
“Yes. The next time this maniac races down the street, he could send a helpless kid flying into the ditch.” Something indefinable flickered across Ethan’s face. “And that kid may not be as lucky.”
Kim’s mouth went dry. Too stunned to respond, she could only stare at him. Was she endangering others by protecting Blake?
Surely not. Whereas the manor’s closure might.
Ethan’s tone gentled. “What are you afraid of, Kim?”
The low, intimate pitch of his voice trembled through her, warm and soothing, entreating her to trust him. But too much was at stake. She couldn’t let him involve the police.
“I’m not afraid. I just overreacted. I told you, I probably scared the driver more than myself.” She twisted sideways, forcing Ethan to loosen his hold. Stones dug into her palms as she scrambled to her feet. Her ankle faltered under her weight, but she stood firm. “I’m fine. See?” She bit the words out through clenched teeth.
“Nevertheless,” he said, all traces of warmth gone, “we’ll call the police. You may not have seen anything, but I did.”
The jump of Kim’s pulse at her throat confirmed Ethan’s suspicion. She was hiding something. The driver ran her down in broad daylight. An innocent victim would be demanding justice. Never mind that the only information he had for the police was that the culprit’s car had a broken taillight. Kim clearly didn’t want them to catch the guy.
Something inside Ethan shifted at the obvious implications.
He blew out a breath. When Kim had first opened her eyes, the mix of fear and determination swirling in her gaze had tugged at him in an elemental way he found hard to ignore. But he had a job to do, and the fastest way to deep-six his objectivity was to start caring about the suspects.
Of course, even if Kim weren’t a suspect, he’d keep his distance.
She deserved better than the likes of him. His own parents had disowned him after his reckless-driving charge. And his ex-girlfriend had cured him of any illusions that anyone else would ever want him.
Kim shoved her hands into the soggy pockets of her shorts. “I don’t see what the police can do. The car didn’t hit me.”
“So you said.” Based on the background checks he’d done, Kim Corbett—daughter of the detention facility’s founder, vocal supporter of the facility’s mission to rehabilitate young offenders and faithful member of Miller’s Bay Community Church—was the last employee of Hope Manor he imagined likely of luring residents into the drug trade.
“What would they arrest him for?” Kim persisted. “Scaring the daylights out of me?”
“How about reckless driving?”
Ethan didn’t miss the way Kim’s jaw clenched at the suggestion. The only plausible reason she’d cover for the jerk was if she had something bigger to lose.
In the past year, the local cops had identified two former residents of Hope Manor as drug pushers. The pair negotiated a deal to give up the person who’d recruited them in return for a suspended sentence. But neither survived long enough to finger him. Somehow, someone got to them in the jail cell. Which meant whoever was behind the operation would stop at nothing to ensure his anonymity.
And maybe Kim knew it. Maybe this was a warning to keep her mouth shut, or else.
Ethan winced at the thought. Okay, so forget calling the police. He’d handle this himself.
Darryl nudged his sister to start walking. “Let’s get you ice for that ankle and into dry clothes before we worry about anything else.”
Despite her earlier bravado, Kim gingerly avoided putting her full weight on her left foot.
Thankful that at least she didn’t have a spinal injury, Ethan dragged in his first full breath since finding her sprawled in the ditch. He may have relinquished his hold on her, but the tension in his muscles took longer to let go. This guy had some sort of control over her, and if Ethan wanted to win her confidence enough to learn what it was, he might as well forget about keeping his distance.
The rustle of a dirt-smeared newspaper caught his attention. “Is this yours?” he called after Kim, and then stooped to retrieve the paper. The headline—Funding Cuts Threaten Detention Center’s Future—dominated the page.
The instant Darryl scanned the headline, his eyes darkened. “Please tell me you aren’t hatching another one of your schemes.” At Ethan’s raised eyebrow, Darryl explained. “Our dad founded this place, and as the oldest child, Kim seems to think she has a sacred duty to save it.”
Kim gasped. “How can you say that?”
Another reason crossed Ethan’s mind. Closing the manor would dry up a ready supply of eager recruits.
Kim met his gaze. “Is it so wrong to not want to see my father’s work lost?”
“No, I think it’s admirable.”
Kim shot her brother a smug grin.
Ethan chuckled at Darryl’s snort. Joining Kim’s cause might be the perfect opportunity to get closer to her and, more importantly, closer to the truth. He tucked the newspaper under his arm and fell into step beside her. “How do you plan to save Hope Manor from the chopping block?”
“I want to get a petition together to pressure the provincial government to reconsider,” Kim explained. “And I want to pitch an idea to the newspaper for a series on former residents who’ve made good. Once people see the impact we have, I’m sure they’ll support our petition.”
“You’ll only make the situation worse.” Darryl swiped his pass card over the lock to the staff entrance and opened the door. Chilled air spilled out, but the crisp blast did nothing to cool the heat in his voice. “Half the people in this town didn’t know there was a detention center here until you wrote that letter to the editor a few weeks back.”
Kim eased onto one of the benches lining the space between the walls of lockers and unlaced her shoe. “That’s why they need to hear its success stories.”
“Trust me. They don’t want to know that Miller’s Bay harbors young offenders. Involve the papers and it’s only a matter of time before the incident with Mitch gets out, too.”
“The Mitch I was hired to replace?” Ethan asked, surprised they’d managed to suppress the news this long in such a small town. The town’s size had been one of the reasons he’d been recruited for this assignment from outside the local force.
“Yeah,” Darryl said. “He got injured chasing a resident who ran off during a field trip.”
“Ouch, not the kind of news that will endear Hope Manor to the citizens of Miller’s Bay.”
Darryl shot his sister a look. “Exactly.”
“I won’t give up, Darryl. Dad poured his life into this place, because he believes in God’s forgiveness. These kids need to know that even if they repeatedly mess up, God will forgive them, too.”
Kim reminded him of Joy. Despite the pain he’d caused her, she’d offered him that kind of forgiveness. And because of her, he devoted his life to ridding the streets of people like the irresponsible teenager he’d been. While Kim worked to set them free.
What he needed to know was … did she work out of compassion, or to sideline in something more lucrative?
Because, if she was on the level, why had someone just tried to kill her?
TWO
“Change out of those wet clothes while I grab you an ice pack and find Ethan a bandage for his hand,” Kim’s brother said, unlocking the hall door.
Ethan gave the room one last surreptitious scan before stepping into the empty corridor. Aside from the feeling in his gut, he had little evidence the attack on Kim was deliberate, let alone connected to his case. But at least no one could get to her in the locked room.
The main floor of the facility was divided into three units that each housed ten residents and a staff station. Ethan turned left toward the closest. “I’d sure like to get my hands on whoever ran down your sister,” he said, hoping to loosen Darryl’s tongue.
Darryl caught him by the shoulder and swung him around. “Don’t even think about messing with my sister.”
Ethan whacked off the guy’s hold. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw the way you looked at her. You’re here to do a job. Not cozy up to Kim.”
Ethan backed up a step and lifted his hands in innocence. “Hey, I just want to catch the jerk who scared her.”
A door clicked and Darryl’s gaze snapped to the end of the hall.
The manor’s interim director, Aaron Sheppard, hurried toward them. Ethan fought not to gag at the overpowering scent of the thirty-year-old’s trendy cologne. Or maybe it was the smell of the gunk he used to make his hair poke out in that wannabe-actor look. His too blue eyes—had to be colored contacts—zeroed in on Darryl. “How’s Kim? I heard she had an accident.”
Darryl stopped the guy from pushing his way into the locker room. “She was jogging and twisted her ankle. She’ll be fine. Her ankle just needs a little icing.”
“But someone said—”
“She’s embarrassed enough,” Darryl interrupted, apparently more concerned about guarding his sister than ticking off his boss. “She doesn’t need people yakking about her.”
Aaron drew in a breath as if he intended to argue, but then his gaze shifted to Ethan. He thrust out his hand. “Ethan, right? Welcome aboard.”
Ethan matched his firm grip, noting the way Aaron’s gaze returned to the staff room door, and then to Darryl. Definitely another man worth grilling for information.
“Was there something else?” Darryl said.
“Yeah, you’ve got a phone message. Wanted you to call back ASAP.”
Worry replaced Darryl’s scowl. “The hospital?”
“Not sure. While you’re in the office, let the in-charge supervisor know that she needs to call someone to cover Kim’s shift.”
“Kim won’t like being sent home, but it’s probably not a bad idea. Could you show Ethan where he can get the ice?” Darryl’s gaze shifted to Ethan. “Then I’ll meet you back here to finish the orientation.”
After Darryl disappeared down the corridor, Ethan took advantage of the opportunity to ply Aaron for information. “Who’s in the hospital?”
“His dad. Cancer. Admitted on the weekend. The pain got to be too much. It’s only a matter of time now.” Aaron paused outside the door of unit one’s staff station. “I heard what you said about catching the guy who ran Kim down. So she didn’t just twist her ankle jogging?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you see the guy?”
“Unfortunately not. You got any idea who it might’ve been?”
“Some kid out bah-hawing, I expect.” Aaron’s lips pressed into a flat line as if he might have a particular kid in mind. He unlocked the door to the staff station—a glass-walled peninsula from which the entire unit could be viewed. Each unit consisted of a common room with a nailed-down sofa, TV and game tables, a washroom, a laundry room and a line of bedrooms, lockable only from the outside. The residents were in morning classes, so the unit was empty.
“You get a lot of kids from the area driving crazy on these back roads?”
“You know how it is. Boys will be boys.”
“Hmm.” Ethan found the first-aid kit and swabbed his palm with disinfectant.
Aaron pulled a bag of ice from a small fridge in the corner, and then waved to a plate of muffins on the desk. “Help yourself. Kim’s mom is always baking for the staff and residents. How she copes with stress, Mr. Corbett once told me.” Aaron rubbed his stomach. “I think we’ve all gained ten pounds since he took ill.” He handed Ethan the ice. “Here you go. Can you find your own way back?”
“Sure, but—” Ethan’s gaze flicked to the glass partition. His mind buzzed with possible reasons Aaron might want to hang back in an empty unit. None of them aboveboard. “Didn’t you want to see Kim?”
Aaron unlocked the door and motioned him to exit. “I’ll see her later, tonight.”
Ethan frowned. Not that who Kim saw in her free time was any of his business … unless the person was connected to his case, which Aaron very well could be. It was more believable than thinking Kim was on the wrong side of the law.
But before Ethan could ask another question, Aaron prodded him out the door. Definitely suspicious. Ethan hurried to the locker room. At least with Darryl fielding a phone call, he’d get his chance to question Kim alone.
Raised voices stopped his hand midknock. Two voices. One female—Kim’s. One male.
He strained to hear what they were saying, but the male voice dropped to an angry hiss.
“No—” Kim cried, and slamming of metal on metal swallowed the rest of her words.
Ethan twisted the knob uselessly and pounded the door. “Hey, open up.”
The door jerked open, and Kim’s brother stood on the other side, teeth gritted.
Because of the phone call? Or something else?
Ethan pushed his way inside, his gaze sweeping the room. “What’s going on?”
“I’m being sent home.” Kim hooked a padlock onto the door he’d heard slam, and then stalked to a wooden bench. She’d changed into a fresh green T-shirt that did amazing things for her eyes. Or maybe the disagreement with her brother had brought out those fiery flecks.
Darryl snatched up the ice bag and tossed it to Kim. “Now keep that foot elevated until Ginny gets here.” He ignored Kim’s long-suffering sigh. “Come on, Ethan. I’ll take you to admissions. We have a resident due back from court. I can show you how we process arrivals.”
Terrific. He’d have to bide his time until he got another chance to interrogate Kim.
A crackly voice shouted, “Yard. Now,” over Darryl’s walkie-talkie.
Kim scooped the ice bag off her foot. “Go ahead, Darryl. Ethan and I can handle the incoming.”
Ethan reached to help her up, but she brushed his hand aside, as if her injury was of no concern.
“When an incident with a resident escalates,” she explained, leading the way through the maze of corridors, “you shout now and your location into your walkie-talkie to summon help. It doesn’t happen that often, but between my taking up yours and Darryl’s time and Tony off, we’re a little short staffed.”
“Who’s Tony?”
“One of our full-timers. He called in sick just before his shift this morning.”
This morning, huh? Ethan made a mental note to look up Tony’s address and pay him a visit. Check out his taillights. “Has he worked here long?”
“Since the place opened.”
“That long? He must’ve been upset when the board hired a new guy as deputy director instead of promoting senior staff.” Maybe upset enough to look at making some money on the side with a homegrown drug ring.
She shrugged, but her puckered brow suggested the possibility bothered her. Or was it the manor’s uncertain future?
“Here we are.” She unlocked the admission room connected to a sally port—an entrance rigged to secure the outer door before the inner door opened.
The musty odor that seeped into the corridor resurrected memories he’d willed himself to forget. He braced his hands on the door frame, one foot bridging the threshold, the other cemented to the hall. He felt sixteen again, teetering on the edge of a sinkhole that threatened to swallow him from the inside out. The humiliation of being restrained. The loneliness as weeks passed without a visitor. The remorse that gnawed at him day and night.
“Ethan? Are you okay?”
Kim’s voice jerked him back to the present. “Yes.” He gave his head a hard shake. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Is it your hand?”
“What?” He pulled his hand from the door frame and looked at the bandage. Come to think of it, it was throbbing.
“Maybe you should have the nurse—”
“It’s fine.” He stepped into the room and moved toward the window overlooking the attached garage. If he expected to gain her trust, he needed to utilize every available minute, not fuss over a couple of puncture wounds.
“Sounds like my bigger concern should be how long my new job’s gonna be around.” He propped his hip on the side of the desk. “Maybe I should help you with your petition.”
“Really?”
“Sure.” The sun seemed to rise in her eyes, and Ethan regretted that his offer had more strings attached than a trussed-up turkey. “Although I am curious why your brother is opposed to the idea. Is that what had him so riled back there?”
Kim sank wearily into the chair. “I don’t know. He used to talk to me, but lately …” Her gaze shifted to the thick-paned window. “I guess we all deal with grief in our own way.”
“I heard your father has cancer, and that it’s bad. I’m sorry.” Hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck, Ethan reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Darryl will come around. You’ll see.” The slight relaxing of her muscles beneath his fingers left him fighting the temptation to let his hand linger. He took a step back. “So, who do we have coming in?”
“Um, I think it’s Mel.” She double-checked the sign-in book. “Yes, Melvin Reimer.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“He’s fifteen. A good kid, really. Comes from a stable family, but he had a hard time making friends at school.”
“Let me guess. He got sucked into a gang.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been urging him to get out.”
“The gang’s not going to let that happen.”
“It’s not their choice. It’s his. And he’s matured a lot in the months he’s been here, which is only one example of why it’s so important to do everything we can to make sure the government doesn’t shut us down.”
Ethan chose not to dispute the Pollyanna view. Her optimism was kind of refreshing. “Did Melvin have a parole hearing this morning?”
“No, a group conference between his family and the victim’s. This was a big step for him. He wanted the opportunity to apologize, ask for forgiveness and achieve some sort of reconciliation.”
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