Undercover Memories. Lenora Worth

and his children shall have a place of refuge.

      —Proverbs 14:26

      In memory of all the children who don’t find their way home. You are not forgotten.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       About the Author

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Introduction

       Dear Reader

       Bible Verse

       Dedication

       ONE

       TWO

       THREE

       FOUR

       FIVE

       SIX

       SEVEN

       EIGHT

       NINE

       TEN

       ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       FIFTEEN

       SIXTEEN

       SEVENTEEN

       EIGHTEEN

       NINETEEN

       TWENTY

       TWENTY-ONE

       TWENTY-TWO

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       ONE

      Detective Ryder Palladin listened to the grit and static of the scanner and hit a fist against the steering wheel of the rusty, old undercover vehicle. He was hot and tired and full of bad coffee. “Daughtry, come in.”

      He’d been sitting in this broken-up, weed-infested parking lot in the armpit of downtown Dallas for the better part of an hour, waiting to see if Daughtry could get their man. Petey Smith was low on the ladder to drug lord success, a gofer really. And as squirrelly as a back-alley rodent. He’d squeal before they slammed the bars on his jail cell.

      If Daughtry ever signaled that he had him.

      His younger, overly confident partner’s voice finally came through on Ryder’s earbud. “What’s the matter, cowboy? Miss me?”

      “Just report,” Ryder growled back, ready to get home. His partner, Pierce Daughtry, had joined Vice two years ago when the man had been extremely wet behind the ears. Sometimes, Ryder believed Pierce was still a rookie, but the kid had proved himself over and over. He’d better come through tonight. Ryder wanted to finish this shift and head to his Fort Worth ranch for the weekend.

      “Did you find Petey?”

      “Nope, but I found a situation,” Pierce replied in his laid-back Texas drawl. “Might want to come and take a look at this one.”

      “I sent you in to surveil one shady criminal.”

      “I’m not kidding, man,” Pierce replied. “I... I think I’ve found a dead woman.”

      “Call 911.”

      Ryder let up with the chitchat and got out of the unmarked car at a run, his semiautomatic pistol drawn, his cowboy boots hitting the ragged sidewalk tearing through one of the worst areas of downtown. A Texas-size summer heat sizzled all around him as his breath cut through the heavy humidity and the dank smells of rotting garbage and worse.

      Rounding a dark corner, he saw Pierce Daughtry up ahead in the alley, bent over what could only be the discovery he’d made.

      “She’s still alive, but barely,” Pierce said on a loud whisper while Ryder stared down at the still figure. “I think I interrupted them. That big bouncer and his scrawny sidekick.”

      “Did you try to stop them?”

      Pierce did an eye roll. “What, and give away my cover?”

      Ryder did a return eye roll. “What happened?”

      “They saw me coming around the corner and turned and ran in the other direction,” he said with a grim grin. “I gave chase but they got away before I could do anything much. Took off in a black truck.” Shrugging, he added with dripping sarcasm, “And that’s when I reported to you, Oh-Great-One.”

      “They left her for dead,” Ryder finished, ignoring the sarcasm since it kept them both grounded. “I’ll check her for ID.”