Deadly Ties Read online

  Praise for

  Deadly Ties

  “Deadly Ties is Vicki Hinze at her absorbing best. Crisply written and fast-paced, Deadly Ties is a can’t-put-down story of depth, faith, and twists and turns that would put anyone to the test.”

  —CARLA NEGGERS, New York Times best-selling author

  “Deadly Ties is a compelling, suspenseful action-adventure novel with a believable faith-challenging message, not only for the characters but for the reader as well. Vicki Hinze captured my attention, heart, and emotions in this gripping tale of pain, healing, forgiveness, and second chances, complete with colorful characters and a tender, playful love story woven into a powerful drama. I’m anxiously awaiting the next book in this series.”

  —NORA ST. LAURENT, founder of The Book Club Network and ACFW Book Club Coordinator

  Praise for

  Forget Me Not

  “Hinze has written a masterful, complicated tale of suspense that gains momentum with each turn of a page.… talent for transforming the unlikely into something beautiful.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly

  “Forget Me Not is edge-of-your-seat suspense. Each page left me breathless with anticipation for the next page. This book is non-put-downable.”

  —DEBBIE MACOMBER, #1 New York Times best-selling author

  “Written with equal parts grace and passion, Vicki Hinze’s latest thriller, Forget Me Not, delves deeply into a the chilling world of twisted loyalties, amnesia, and the struggle of a woman to expose a terrorist plot. Romantic, suspenseful, and ultimately uplifting, this story proves that what is buried in the past never stays buried forever. A great read by a writer who continues to amaze.”

  —JAMES ROLLINS, New York Times best-selling author of The Doomsday Key

  “I literally couldn’t put down Forget Me Not by Vicki Hinze. The suspense kept me flipping pages until long after midnight, and I loved the plot twists. Highly recommended!”

  —COLLEEN COBLE, author of The Lightkeeper’s Bride and the Rock Harbor series

  “Vicki Hinze is a masterful storyteller who has weaved unique and rich characters into a compelling, thought-provoking novel. Forget Me Not is a fabulous page-turner with incredible plot twists that will keep you guessing until the very end. Highly recommended!”

  —MARK MYNHEIR, homicide detective and author of The Night Watchman

  “Vicki Hinze’s Forget Me Not is a novel I couldn’t put down. The fast pace makes for a quick read; the story is full of action and intrigue while the romance flows naturally from the plot. The message of God’s presence in our everyday lives provides an emotional uplifting long after the story ends. I highly recommend Forget Me Not.”

  —ROBIN CAROLL, author of the Bayou series and Deliver Us from Evil

  “The always-entertaining Vicki Hinze breaks new ground with this intriguing tale, filled with nail-biting suspense, emotional turmoil, and heartfelt redemption. This novel celebrates the sturdiness of the human spirit and the healing power of faith. Don’t miss it!”

  —SUSAN WIGGS, author of Just Breathe

  DEADLY TIES

  PUBLISHED BY MULTNOMAH BOOKS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hinze, Vicki.

  Deadly ties : a novel / Vicki Hinze.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—(Crossroads crisis center ; bk. 2)

  eISBN: 978-1-60142-274-3 1. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 2. Human trafficking—Fiction. 3. Private security services—Fiction. 4. Americans—Mexico—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3558.I574D43 2011

  2010034846

  To Dr. Samuel Poppell

  Thank you for using your gifts and saving my eyes.

  There aren’t enough words.

  With heartfelt gratitude and many blessings,

  Vicki

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  W atching an idea take concrete form and grow into a novel is an amazing thing. Contributions come from many (flaws are all mine), and each is significant to what becomes the story. I’d like to express my deep gratitude to:

  Bobby Threlkel, who encourages and willingly brainstorms in the dead of night.

  Debra Webb, Kathy Carmichael, and Marge Smith, three of the most nimble minds at interpreting the complexities of the human heart.

  Cheryl Mansfield, my assistant and right arm (and often, also the left).

  Julee Schwarzburg, who goes the extra mile … and then another and another.

  Steve Cobb and Ken Petersen, for their thoughtful support and kindnesses.

  Alice Crider, Pamela, Ashley, Amy, Chris, Tiffany, Staci, and the others on the WaterBrook Multnomah team who work so hard on behalf of my books and do so with elegance and grace.

  Kelly L. Howard, for creating awesome covers that take my breath away.

  Allen Wyler and Julie Korenzenko, whose efforts above and beyond make this woman one very happy veep in performing her board duties for International Thriller Writers, Inc.

  Jim, David, William Olsen, and Aaron Schuster. You make me think—even when I’d rather not—and I’m grateful for that. It’s such an honor to call you my friends.

  To my Dear Ones, members of RWA PRO, for keeping me on my toes and permitting me the pleasure of sharing your joys and successes.

  My family—hubby, kids, and grands. Thank you for knowing my every flaw and loving me anyway. I’ll love you forever and ever—and that’s a promise.

  And to my mother, Edna Sampson, the inspiration for Annie, who loves with her whole heart.

  To all of you: You enrich my life in ways I can’t begin to explain but for which I am ever grateful. I see you and know I am blessed.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Readers Guide

  Prologue

  The child is not; and I, wither shall I go?

  GENESIS 37:30 (KJV)

  July 1987, Seagrove Village, Florida

  I t was an ordinary day. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen on ordinary days. Only normal things.

  Annie Harper looked at her reflection in the entryway mirror. Her hair was a wreck. The dark circles under her eyes looked as if they’d been drawn on with markers and then smudged. And her nails were a disgrace. Haggard and beaten down. That’s how she looked. And she felt worse.

  “There should be universal rules about this,” she told her reflection. “When a woman is body slammed, she can only take so much without breaking under the pressure.”

  Gathering a full head of steam, she frowned and jabbed her finger in the air. “Life should go easy on you then.” That would be humane. Civil. “And if bad things have to happen, there should be warning signs so there’s time to brace and prepare for them.”

  She dipped her chin and glared into her own eyes. “Especially if it’s too horrific to wrap your mind around—and it happens not to you, but to s
omeone you love.”

  Pain shot through her heart, leaving her chest hollow and empty. “But there aren’t any rules and there weren’t any signs.” She shifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Why, God? Why didn’t You send me at least one bad feeling? An intuitive flash? Couldn’t You spare me even one piddling stomach flutter?” Tears stung her eyes. “I’ve been loyal, obedient. Why didn’t I get something?”

  No edgy nerves. No hitch in her chest. No whispered warning in her mind like, Annie Harper, you listen to me, woman. Trouble’s coming. Summon your faith and gird your loins because every mother’s worst fear is about to knock on your door.

  Fisting her hand, she rested it on the gleaming wooden table beneath the mirror. But did You? No.

  She glared at the vase of freshly cut white roses. The scent was heavy, cloying. “Women’s intuition?” She picked up a bud, plucked a petal, and dropped it on the spotless marble floor. “No, I failed.”

  Tore off another petal. “Mother’s intuition?” Tossed it down. “Failed.”

  Jerked at another petal. “God?” Thrust it. “Failed.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Everything failed.”

  She reached for more petals, but she had stripped the rose bare. All that remained was its stem and thorns.

  Like me.

  Outrage and agony ripped her soul. Oh, I resent this and I wish I had someone to blame. But You didn’t even give me that. Why?

  She staggered into the living room and collapsed on the sofa, curling her knees to her chest to keep the pain bottled up inside. If she let it loose, she’d never recover, and anyway, there was nowhere to dump it.

  It was just an ordinary day.

  “Take me back,” she cried out, her face tear-soaked. Cradling herself, she rocked back and forth, seeking comfort where there was none. “Just twenty-four hours. Please, take me back.”

  “Annie?” Miranda Kent came in from the kitchen, clipping an earring back onto her lobe. Not a strand of her auburn hair was out of place. Loose curls framed her face. Her nails, like the rest of her, were perfect.

  She snagged a tissue and passed it to Annie. “I’ve put on a pot of coffee. The church ladies were meeting at the club, but I told Nora about Charles. She said they would be here in a flash.”

  Annie nodded, pretending to care. She wanted two people in her house. Two. And neither of them would be coming. “Charles and I were at the club night before last.”

  She and her beloved husband had enjoyed dinner with the mayor and forty or so close friends at Somerset House on the Bay. They feasted on salad with baby artichoke hearts and spears of cucumber, then ate honeyed baby carrots and blackened grouper caught fresh that morning in the Gulf of Mexico. Grouper was Charles’s favorite. She swallowed hard. They’d never dine there again.

  “We were with you, remember?” Miranda clutched her flat stomach. “I know better than to eat a heavy meal that late. I was up all night.”

  Annie and Charles had slept like rocks. After they got up and ate breakfast, Lisa and he went on their way.

  Miranda sat beside Annie and crossed her ankles. “Is Lisa seven or eight now? I can’t remember. After thirty, the years tend to run together.”

  “Seven.” Annie’s voice cracked. Lisa was bright and beautiful inside and out—at times all sweetness and innocence, and at others wise beyond her years.

  “She told me she wanted to be a doctor like her dad. We were at Nora’s birthday party, I think.”

  Pain twisted in Annie like hot wires coiled tight. “It’s what she’s always wanted.” Lisa idolized her father. “She has a stronger stomach for medical procedures than I do, and she never complains about Charles’s long hours at the office and hospital.” Annie sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “His practice takes him away from us so much, but Lisa always defends him.” Oh, how Annie wished he were at the office now. That Lisa were here with her.

  “They left early yesterday, didn’t they?”

  Annie didn’t answer.

  “Annie? They left early yesterday, right?”

  “If this shows up in the Village Log, I’m going to cut off your fingers, Miranda.”

  “Not a word without your express permission.” She crossed her heart.

  Annie believed her. “Yesterday. At the crack of dawn.” Seagrove Village was up in the Florida panhandle, and getting down to Orlando for a trip to Disney World would take a solid eight hours. “Charles wanted to beat the tourist traffic.” She’d been so proud of him for finally taking a break from work to spend some quality time with Lisa. Charles was brilliant and committed to his patients, but he rarely took time off.

  “Highway 98 is a nightmare during the season.” Miranda shifted on the white sofa. “I’m sure Lisa was excited.”

  She was their only child, their miracle baby. “Beyond excited.”

  “Why didn’t you go with them?”

  “It’s my month to chair the charity function. I couldn’t beg off, and rescheduling would have been a nightmare for Charles’s staff and patients.” Now she wished she had gone. That she hadn’t, she’d regret forever.

  “Just as well.” Miranda stood. “If Charles is anything like my Paul and you’d been there, he would have spent the entire week on the phone with his office.” She walked to the kitchen.

  Dishes clanged in the kitchen, and Annie resented the racket almost as much as she resented Miranda’s being right. Charles would have used Annie as a buffer, and Lisa didn’t need him just being in the same room; she got enough of that already.

  Miranda returned with a tea tray and the puzzle from the New York Times. “I saw this on the counter and thought you might want a diversion.”

  “I don’t work the puzzles. I saved it for Lisa. She loves them.” Annie took a cup and saucer Miranda extended to her. “From the cradle, she couldn’t resist a mystery of any sort.” She was good at solving them too.

  “Obviously that’s from Charles’s side of the family.”

  Annie nodded. “They want to know and fix everything.” If they could fix this, Annie would never complain about that again.

  But they couldn’t. God help her, no one could.

  Miranda poured tea into her own cup. Steam lifted from it. “Interesting family dynamic. The Harpers are into everything, and you avoid everything.”

  “I don’t.” Annie took exception. “I face what I have to face to survive.”

  “Exactly.” Miranda waved. “You only worry after you’ve prayed and done all you can do. I’ve always admired that about you.”

  Annie didn’t want or need admiration. She wanted and needed her family.

  She stared through the sheers out to the lawn. It was a glorious summer day, much like yesterday when Miranda and Annie had skipped the fashion show and played nine holes of golf. The club’s courses were the best in northwest Florida, and Miranda’s game was far better than Annie’s, but then it should be. Annie dabbled. Miranda hit the links nearly every day.

  Ordinary.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Miranda set down her cup and got to her feet. “You just relax. Shall I bring the church ladies in here?”

  “Yes.” Annie stood. “I’m going to my room for a few minutes to compose myself.”

  Miranda nodded. “Good idea.” Pity shone in her eyes. “I’ll keep them busy until you’re ready to see them.”

  Annie walked through to the master suite, shut the door, and then flung herself across her bed. If this were yesterday, she’d be in the hammock out back facing the cove, enjoying the salt-tanged breeze, lost in a good book. Even as night had fallen and the clock inched toward eight, she hadn’t been antsy.

  Lisa had promised to phone every night at eight for a virtual tuck in. She’d outgrown it but indulged Annie because it was her favorite daily ritual, not that Annie ever dwelled on how much it meant to her. She learned early in life not to want or need anything too much. That could make you do crazy things. But the truth was, it was just too scary—
the risks of wanting those things and not getting them. She’d worked hard on that, but life lessons instilled young were as hard to break as bad habits.

  Was that just another latent gift of being orphaned and raised by a series of foster parents? Maybe so. Two were good people, but more than two should have been in jail. Yet more likely, she avoided those risks because until she’d married Charles, she had to claw her way through her whole life just to survive.

  She scrunched her pillow and wadded it under her ear. The lavender smell reminded her of the roses. She tossed the pillow aside and tugged over Charles’s. His scent clung to the pillowcase. Gripping wads of the fine linen in both hands, she held on tight and buried her nose deep. Yesterday, those early days had faded from her life.

  Yesterday, she had a good husband, an amazing daughter, a beautiful home in the village, and more stuff than anyone could want, much less need.

  Yesterday.

  Yet even then, the fear of being hungry never went away. She could tell herself anything, go through all the therapy in the world, but down deep she still feared being hungry again.

  Annie always had kept money stashed away for a rainy day. At least she had until a month ago. Lisa came home from Sunday school and said an orphanage in Haiti needed a roof to get the kids out of the rain.

  Images of those children soaked to the skin burned in Annie’s mind now as they had then. She hadn’t slept a wink. It was a fierce battle, but on the third day she forfeited her stash. She wasn’t hungry, and the kids were suffering. They needed to get dry.

  Charles was indulgent and Lisa was ecstatic, lavish with grateful butterfly kisses and twinkling sparkles in her dancing blue eyes. She had no idea Annie had virtually been on her knees ever since, praying she hadn’t set herself up for starvation.

  Ordinary.

  “Take me back twenty-four hours,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Let me live them just once more.” She wept openly, begged without shame. “Just once more.”

  The picture formed vividly in her mind. Twenty-four hours ago she had walked down the tiled east wing to Lisa’s room. Rex, her two-year-old yellow lab, lay parked right in the middle of her canopied bed. He seemed so sad that Annie lacked the heart to fuss at him. “You miss her too, eh, boy?”