Lois Richer - Identity - Undercover

“You followed me?” Shock held her immobile for several seconds. “Why?” she finally demanded.

“Because there are things I need to know, stuff we have to talk about.” His lips tightened to a thin, angry line at the shake of her head. “What?”

“I don’t want to talk about the past. Not ever again.” She turned away but his words stopped her.

“Well, I do. I need to know the truth, Callie. And you’re going to tell it to me. When I’m satisfied I know everything, then and only then will I send you off with those divorce papers you’re so anxious to file.”

Despite the blazing September sun and the protection of the cabin, Callie felt an icy breeze across her nerves.

Max could never know the truth. Never.

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Sneaking a flashlight under the blankets, hiding in a thicket of Caragana bushes where no one could see, pushing books into socks to take to camp—those are just some of the things Lois Richer freely admits to in her pursuit of the written word. “I’m a bookaholic. I can’t do without stories,” she confesses. “It’s always been that way.”

You have seen me tossing and turning through the night. You have collected all my tears and preserved them in a bottle! You have recorded every one in your book…This one thing I know: God is for me!

—Psalms 56:8, 9b

This book is gratefully dedicated to those who

keep our countries safe, who stand at the entrance

of freedom and say, “I will lay down my life to

preserve you.” May we never fail them.

Dear Reader,

Hello there! Welcome back to Finders, Inc.

Secrets are funny things, aren’t they? Some are good—like Christmas secrets. And some can really drag you down, prevent you from living a full, rich life that shows the world your true colors. Callie’s secret forced her to live in fear and shame for many years, until she realized that God had already forgiven her. But that forgiveness wasn’t effective until she finally forgave herself.

I hope you’ll trust the God who loves you with your secret. I pray you’ll dig until you find His perfect peace, His joy unspeakable, His hope for you. Most of all, I pray you’ll experience His love—beyond measure, beyond understanding, beyond description.

Blessings to you, friend.

PROLOGUE

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

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

This above all—to thine own self be true.

—William Shakespeare

Ten years ago

The courtroom brimmed with reporters, all present to record every sordid detail they could glean about the ambassador’s daughter and her sad little tale.

Callie Merton took a deep breath, forced herself to walk calmly to the front of the room. Marie Antoinette going to the guillotine, that’s who she’d pretend to be.

She took the oath, sat down, faced straight ahead. Using every morsel of control she could scrounge, she answered the questions clearly and concisely, remembering the prosecutor’s advice to keep it short and simple.

“The man who gave you the drugs—do you see him in the courtroom today?”

“Yes.”

“Would you point to that person?”

She lifted her hand, aimed one finger. “That’s him.”

A rumble of whispers rippled through the audience.

“Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant.”

There were more questions. Lots of them. Horrible, probing questions that left no tawdry point hidden. Clinging to her icy mantle of aloofness, Callie refused to be swayed.

At last she was released. Holding her head high, she stepped down, toward the man she’d accused. Every nerve in her body pulled taut in tense anticipation as she neared the place where he sat, the place she had to pass to get out of this room, away from the prying eyes.

She’d almost passed him when his voice, whisper-soft but brimming with menace, reached her.

“You’ll pay for this. No matter how long it takes, you’ll pay.”

Callie kept walking, down the long aisle, past the photographers with their whirring cameras, out of the building. Fifteen granite steps got her to the street level. From there it was a short dash to her car. Only when she was inside with the doors locked did she fill her lungs with a deep breath.

Then Callie drove as far and as fast as she dared. When she finally stopped running, she was on a ferry that would take her to the city of Victoria, British Columbia.

By then she’d left Marie Antoinette far behind, had turned into someone else, a gutsy young woman who didn’t live in fear but took on the next phase of her life with dignity and pride. One who accepted challenges as a way to prove she’d changed.

But that woman was a charade.

And every so often a voice from the past would whisper through her head reminding her that the real Callie Merton had gone undercover.

Present Day

“We have a mission for you, Callie.”

The owner of Finders Inc. had a reputation for directness. Callie met Shelby Kincaid-Austen’s scrutiny head-on and forced herself not to flinch at the flicker of compassion she glimpsed in the other woman’s eyes.

“Great. I was hoping you’d have something for me.” Since Shelby didn’t ask about the time she’d taken off, Callie allowed herself to relax just a little.

“I’m assuming you have no preference about location?”

“As long as it’s not Australia again. I’m really tired of the Outback, mate.”

“I’m sorry that one took so long.” Shelby nodded, but her face remained neutral. “I only agreed to assign it to you because you said you needed something that would keep you out of the country for a while.”

Callie noted Shelby’s pause, meant to allow her the opportunity to discuss what had happened to cause that request. Callie remained silent, unmoving. After a moment Shelby shrugged, continued.

“You’re one of the best locators we have so this assignment shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“None of them start out that way.” Callie leaned forward. “What should I know?”

“Finders Inc. has been hired to locate a man named Josiah Harpnell as quickly as we can. He’s the recipient of a substantial legacy. There are certain papers that require his signature—legal technicalities but necessary nonetheless. Though several messages have been forwarded to Mr. Harpnell’s last known address, he has not responded to any of them.”