Deep Cover. Sandra Orchard

the moment she’d seen him across the gym, those magnetic eyes had compelled her to look past the intimidating baldguy appearance to the man inside. And his patient coaching of the special-needs kids had won her heart.

      His gaze dropped to the ground. “I never meant to hurt you.”

      Right. Like after dating for two months, his easy camaraderie with the leering gang member who’d spotted them outside a restaurant in Hamilton shouldn’t have upset her. She could still remember how the creep’s tongue made a slow circuit around his lips and then flicked out of his mouth like the tongue of the snake tattooed on his arm. And Rick’s “Hey, bro!” followed by his nervous glance at her. And the near-total transformation from the security guard he’d claimed to be into the gang member he clearly was.

      Oh yeah, he’d been into security all right—how to bypass it. She hadn’t needed to hang around and listen to the rest of Snake Man’s loosely veiled robbery scheme to figure that out. Or to figure out that Rick wasn’t the God-fearing man he’d let her believe.

      She’d ended the relationship on the spot. Almost changed her phone number, even contemplated moving, but she hadn’t needed to bother. He didn’t attempt to defend himself, let alone try to see her again.

      “How’s Lori doing? Still playing basketball?” he asked now, and the warmth in his tone stole Ginny’s thunder.

      He’d always been kind to her mentally challenged sister. Part of her longed to know that Rick again. But she’d never really known him, had she?

      “Stop answering my questions with questions. I don’t know why you lied to my uncle about who you are, but I expect you to resign immediately.” She’d promised she’d see this group home finished and she wasn’t about to let Lori, or their dying mother, down by inviting trouble.

      Rick’s gaze darted to the newest spray-painted threat. “Since when do you fundraise for building projects? You told me you wrote web copy.”

      The irritation in Rick’s voice scraped away any vestige of hope that the man Ginny once loved had been real. “How dare you make me sound like the one pretending to be someone I’m not? If you don’t quit, I will tell my uncle you’re an imposter.”

      “It’s not what you think.”

      “Oh? And what am I thinking, Rick? Is Rick even your real name? I have no idea who you are. How can you know what I’m thinking?”

      Rick glanced down at the hard hat he twisted in his hands. “All I’m asking is for a chance to start over. I really need this job.”

      “Yeah, a guy who switches identities every year would. And lying about who you are—that’s a great way to start over.” She straightened her shoulders. “I don’t know who you expected to see out here today, but from the shocked look on your face, I’m certain it wasn’t me. So don’t feed me any more lines about starting over. I need a man who knows right from wrong. A man without any shadows in his life. A man like my uncle Emile. Someone honorable.”

      If not for the flinch in Rick’s cheek, his face might’ve been carved from stone—kind of like his heart. Except not even the gray drizzle that streamed unchecked down those angular planes could douse the fire in his eyes.

      “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see how this project is coming along.”

      Rick blocked her path like a giant Beware sign in his yellow rain slicker, arms akimbo. “It’s too dangerous for you to wander around out here.”

      Ginny pushed past him, but at the sight of the sheared floor joists spearing into the basement her retort lodged in her throat. “What happened?”

      “Someone cut through the timbers.”

      “I can see that. But why?”

      “I don’t know. And until I do, I don’t want you around here or getting your name and picture in the papers. You could get hurt.”

      “Are you nuts? We need to call the police.”

      “You don’t want to do that.”

      “Why?” She tore her gaze from the splintered floor and glared at him. “Are you afraid the police will pin this on you?”

      “Will you forget about our past for one minute and listen? If you bring the police out here, sirens blaring, the press will be on this faster than vultures on roadkill. Is that the kind of publicity you want?”

      Her chest deflated. No, definitely not. “Who would do this?”

      “It could be anyone. Emile thinks it’s the protesters, but a businessman like your uncle has undoubtedly amassed a number of enemies.”

      “That’s ridiculous.”

      “We have to consider all the possibilities.”

      “We?” Ginny planted her hands on her hips. “You’re quitting, remember? I will look into this myself.”

      Rick reached out, but then let his hand drop just shy of grazing her cheek and took a step back. “I hurt you, and for that I am sorrier than you could possibly know. But falling through those boards this morning could have killed me. These people don’t care who they hurt.”

      She gasped, noticing for the first time the crack in his helmet, the mud smeared on his jacket.

      “I couldn’t bear it if something like that happened to you. Let me talk with the police quietly and help them figure out who did this.”

      The tenderness of his offer stirred more feelings than she wanted to remember. But for all she knew this booby trap had been set by one of his gang buddies. Even if this alias thing was entirely innocent, he’d still lied. She fisted her trembling hands. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you can take yourself off my project or I can have you fired. You decide.”

      TWO

      I’m not going anywhere. Rick rammed his fist into the punching bag slung from the rafters of his garage. Outside, rain hammered the metal roof. The lone window offered nothing but a meager shaft of light to see by. Kind of like how he felt about this job.

      Rick dropped his head against the punching bag and let the memories resurface—his partner’s wife and daughter huddled outside the burning building, their soot-blackened clothes plastered to their bodies by the relentless rain, their eyes fixed on the door, waiting, praying Tom would stumble out with the adopted grandma he’d run back in to save. Rick pictured the tear-streaked face of Tom’s little girl as she reached for her daddy’s casket; he slammed the punching bag again. He couldn’t bow out. Not now, not ever. Not when guys like Laud didn’t care who they sacrificed.

      The side door burst open.

      Rick whirled around, fists raised.

      “Whoa.” Fellow cop Zach Davis held up his hands. “What’s got you riled?”

      “Nothing.” Rick snatched his towel from the workbench and dried his face.

      Rain dripped from Zach’s ball cap onto an already drenched T-shirt. He lifted the cap off his head and swatted it against his jeans. “Try again.”

      Rick balled the towel and tossed it at Zach’s head.

      Laughing, Zach snagged the towel with one hand and caught Rick’s wrist in the other, exposing his swollen knuckles. “Woman troubles?”

      Rick shoved off his hold. They’d worked together on and off for too many years to hide the truth. He pulled a couple of root beers from the minifridge and handed one to Zach. “I saw Ginny today.”

      “The Ginny?”

      “Yeah.” Condensation pooled on the can and dripped through Rick’s fingers. “The Ginny.”

      “Let me guess. She met Duke.”

      Hearing