Hope and Honor Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Marilee Brothers

  Hope and Honor

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  He scoots his chair back and pulls me onto his lap. I lift his cap to check out his hair. It’s pale blond and growing out from the spikey do.

  He says, “Is it true blonds have more fun?”

  “You get to decide.”

  He leans and whispers, “Believe me, I will.”

  Heat spirals through my body, settling deep into my belly. I want to grab him by the hand and drag him out to my car. Have my way with him. Until I see Mick, I don’t realize how much I’ve missed him. But, this is not the time or place. I push away and stand. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

  I suspect they are fellow officers. Not that he’ll tell me.

  Instead, he says, “This is Mel.”

  He points at the men and identifies each one by first name only. Now I know for sure they’re his work buddies.

  I say, “See you around, guys. Enjoy your evening.”

  Mick looks a little panicked. “Hey, wait. I’ll see you later. In Number Ten. Right?”

  Now, it’s my turn for payback and I love it.

  “Wrong.” I walk away.

  “At least leave bread crumbs.”

  I hear a hint of desperation in his voice and return to the table. “You’re Homeland Security. Remember, you have no rules. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, big guy. Bye, bye.”

  His buddies burst into laughter as I sashay away.

  Praise for Marilee Brothers

  “Wow! I had such a hard time catching up…but finally got the time to read [AFFLICTION]. And boy am I glad I did! What a wonderfully written story. As the mother of a child with actual Aspergers, I was a little intrigued by that aspect. I was so happy to see it was never seen in a bad light, and this was so well-written I came out of it wishing it could be real.”

  ~The Naughty Librarian

  ~*~

  “Love a cheeky heroine…Mel is back taking on prejudice and a hate-crime mystery in [ALLEGIANCE] book two of the Soul Seekers Series! Author Marilee Brothers does what she does best—gives you relatable characters that engage you more and more with each turn of the page.”

  ~Dawn Miller

  Hope and Honor

  by

  Marilee Brothers

  The Soul Seekers Series, Book 3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Hope and Honor

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Marilee Brothers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1870-7

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1871-4

  The Soul Seekers Series, Book 3

  Published in the United States of 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 fron
t 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.