Identity Withheld

  WITNESS IN HIDING

  After exposing an illegal adoption ring, newly named “Kara Grant” is promised safety in Witness Protection. But someone has found her—and wants her dead. If only she could trust the handsome firefighter who catches her fleeing from a suspicious fire. Jake Steele seems to think she’s guilty of burning her own home. But how can she tell him who she really is and what she’s been through without bringing danger to the widowed single father’s door? Yet with the criminals quickly closing in, taking such a risk might be her only chance at survival. Because the price she’ll pay for her silence could be her life.

  “Kara, listen to me.”

  Jake’s footfalls pounded behind her. She ran faster. “Kara,” he called. “If you didn’t set the fire, you have no reason to run,” Jake called. “The police will protect you from whoever you’re afraid of.”

  She tripped over the curb as she chanced a glance over her shoulder.

  Jake burst from between the houses just as she recovered her balance. His gaze slammed into hers. The dim light couldn’t mask the concern she saw flickering in his eyes. “I can help you, Kara.”

  The sound of a siren broke his spell. He’d called the police. She gulped in a lungful of air. “If you really want to help me, Jake, forget you ever saw me.” She turned on her heel and ran.

  “Kara!”

  Blinding headlights blipped on, and she froze. Her heart jammed in her throat as the lights sped toward her. I’m going to die.

  Hurled into the hedges on the other side of the road, her body exploded in agony. Then everything went black.

  Books by Sandra Orchard

  Love Inspired Suspense

  *Deep Cover

  *Shades of Truth

  *Critical Condition

  Fatal Inheritance

  Perilous Waters

  Identity Withheld

  *Undercover Cops

  SANDRA ORCHARD

  hails from the beautiful countryside of Niagara, Ontario, where inspiration abounds for her romantic suspense novels. Not that she runs into any bad guys, but because her imagination is free to run as wild as her Iditarod-wannabe husky. Sandra lives with her real-life hero husband, who happily provides both romantic and suspense inspiration, as long as it doesn’t involve poisons and his dinner. But her truest inspiration comes from the Lord, in the beauty of a sunrise over the field and the whisper of a breeze, in the antics of a killdeer determined to safeguard its nest and the faithfulness of the seasons. She enjoys writing stories that both keep the reader guessing and reveal God’s love and faithfulness through the lives of her characters.

  Sandra loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website, or at www.facebook.com/SandraOrchard or c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

  IDENTITY WITHHELD

  Sandra Orchard

  If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

  If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

  —Psalms 139:9–12

  To the dedicated volunteer firefighters faithfully serving our small communities.

  The Lord’s provision when I’m wrestling out a story always delights and encourages me.

  I learn so much and am indebted to the many experts who tirelessly answer my questions. In particular, I’d like to thank retired volunteer firefighter Don Gretsinger, thirty-three-year veteran and retired district chief, Ivan Good, firefighter Harold Riemersma, and retired fire investigator Dave MacMullen for answering my many questions.

  Thank you to midwife Brianna Timmers for helping me create a plausible backstory for Tommy’s mother. And a huge thank-you to paramedic Charlotte Cripps for teaching me so much about emergency procedures, both for this story and Sherri Steele’s story coming next year, and…for connecting me with Dave.

  Thank you also to the WODE members who helped me brainstorm the proposal and work through various scenes. To Vicki McCollum for her ever-helpful feedback. To my editors Tina James and Giselle Regus for the many ways they helped make the story stronger. To Patti Jo Moore for her daily encouragement and prayer cover. To Nancy Miller for the many, many little things she does to give me more time to write. To author Laura Frantz and Amber Perry for answering all my questions about Seattle and area. To reader Susan Manchester for telling me about her dog Rusty, the inspiration behind Tommy’s dog. To Kara Grant for loaning my heroine her name. To the blog readers, newsletter subscribers and Facebook fans who brainstormed backstory and titles with me, and who made choosing actors to model my characters after so much fun!

  And…a huge thanks to the world’s best brainstorming partner, Stacey Weeks, who put up with countless phone calls and emails to help me work my way through the smoky haze of the first draft.

  Contents

  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

  EPILOGUE

  DEAR READER

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  EXCERPT

  ONE

  Jake Steele squinted through the smoky haze surrounding the house, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched. There. In the hedges. It had to be their arsonist. This fire had all the signs of being deliberately set. Jake motioned to his partner, Davis, and they started for the hedge.

  The face disappeared, swallowed by the drizzly darkness.

  Counting on the suspect wanting to avoid the street, Jake beelined to the backyard. Sure enough, a lone figure skulked along the property’s edge. This pyromaniac was going down.

  Jake and Davis closed the distance fast, the commotion of the other firefighters masking the thump of their heavy boots. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jake grabbed the guy’s arm.

  The scream that met his grip was no guy’s.

  Jake turned his flashlight on their culprit, and her panicked brown eyes blindsided him. His grip loosened.

  She twisted and squirmed, pounding her free fist against his chest and kicking uselessly at his legs. “Let go of me.”

  “Fat chance,” he said, tightening his grip again. Never mind the tears streaking her sooty cheeks. Men hadn’t cornered the market on arson jobs. And with five suspicious fires this side of Seattle in the past nine weeks, he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he found out exactly what she knew about this one.

  She went limp, her fight gone. “You’re hurting me.”

  His gaze shifted to the arm he still held, the only part of her he’d touched as he’d let her wear herself out pummeling his chest. His heart pitched. “You’re burned.” He jerked his thumb off her blistering flesh, sickened that he’d hurt her further.

  His partner directed a flashlight at her arm. The underside was flaming red from wrist to crook.

  Cupping her elbow with just enough pressure to prevent her from esca
ping, Jake gentled his tone. “Are you burned anywhere else?”

  “I’m fine.” She tried to tug free of his hold.

  “You’re not fine.” Megadoses of adrenaline had to be shooting through this spitfire for her to not so much as wince at the pain that had to be blazing up her arm. “This is a serious burn. It needs to be dressed.”

  She visibly shrank at his insistent tone. “My friend’s coming for me. He’ll take care of everything.”

  Right. If she thought he was about to let her walk away, she’d clearly burned a few brain cells along with that arm. Being careful not to cause her any more pain, he steered her toward the street. “You can wait for your friend in the ambulance.”

  As they came around the now-smoldering building, she dug in her heels and darted terrified glances every which way. “No, please.”

  Jake caught his partner’s attention and jerked his head toward the sheriff’s car.

  Davis nodded and jogged off.

  Jake angled his flashlight just high enough so he could study her heart-shaped face without blinding her. How had he ever mistaken her for a guy? She didn’t look much younger than him—late twenties, maybe. Her damp hair, flattened by the rain, skimmed her shoulders, but she was all girl—and very afraid. He’d expected to see fear over getting caught, maybe regret. Not— “I want to help you,” he said, his voice cracking at her terror.

  Her watery brown eyes searched his as if she desperately wanted to believe him. “I can’t go out there,” she whispered.

  The rattled pitch of her voice tugged at his heart. He tilted his head, softening his expression. “I’m Captain Jake Steele with the Stalwart Fire Department. What’s your name?”

  “Ni—” She coughed, the crackly sound rattling through her limbs. “Kara. Kara Grant.”

  He didn’t believe her, but nodded anyway. The cough had all the signs of an attempt to buy enough time to come up with an alias. “Did you set the fire, Kara?”

  Her eyes flared. “What? No!” She made another useless attempt to jerk free of his grip as the sheriff and Davis rushed toward them. “Sheriff, this firefighter won’t let go of me!”

  “She needs medical attention,” Jake growled.

  “He thinks I set the fire! When I’m the victim here.”

  “Wait. You live here?” Jake’s surprise pitched the question a couple of octaves higher than he’d intended.

  “What do you think?” She cradled her wounded arm.

  “Lady, you were running away. What do you think I thought?” His department had been called in to assist this neighboring town’s volunteer department. He hadn’t caught the name of the missing victim. Her name.

  The sheriff radioed the news to the chief. The firefighters who’d been searching for her inside soon emerged from the house.

  Kara gulped. “They were all looking for me? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  “Didn’t realize?” Jake ground his teeth to reel in his tone. “My men were putting their lives at risk while you watched from the bushes. I have a five-year-old boy at home who doesn’t need to lose another parent.”

  “I—” Her expression crumpled. “Please, no one was hurt, were they?”

  Jake let out a pent-up breath. “No.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “I still need you to answer a few questions, and I think you’ll be more comfortable doing that in the back of the ambulance than a squad car.”

  Her breathing quickened. “Okay, yes. You’re right. Of course.”

  Since she’d stopped complaining about his hold on her elbow, Jake guided her toward the ambulance. As they stepped into view of her neighbors huddled in their yards, their Thanksgiving dinners forgotten, Kara clung to his coat. Jake scanned the crowd, looking for anyone suspicious. A bulbous-nosed man stood alone and seemed particularly intent on the firefighters’ actions.

  “It’s the tenant,” a woman exclaimed.

  A young man cut across the yard and raced toward them. At Kara’s sharp inhalation, Jake instinctively angled his body to block her from view.

  The guy raised something in his hands. A camera.

  “It’s okay. It’s just a reporter,” Jake said, shifting back.

  But at the camera’s flash, Kara buried her face against his coat. “Please, just get me to the ambulance. Please.”

  His conscience pricked at her sudden trust, or maybe the way she trembled against his chest. He curled a sheltering arm around her. “Sheriff, I think those questions better wait until after the paramedics check her over.”

  Jake pulled back just enough to see Kara’s face. His initial assumptions weren’t adding up. He scrutinized her breathing, her eyes, her skin, for signs of assault, shock, something that would explain why she’d run from help.

  Besides the obvious—fear of getting caught.

  * * *

  A section of roof crashed to the ground, spewing black smoke and debris into the air and over her car. Kara forced herself to draw deep breaths, to release them slowly. The paramedics were bound to insist on taking her to the hospital, and she couldn’t let that happen. Especially now that Jake’s suspicions had confirmed her worst fears. The fire was no accident.

  The taste of smoke turned acrid in her mouth. Deep down she’d known the fire was meant for her. That was why she’d called the marshal overseeing her protection the instant she’d gotten out of the house. She shook her head. And then she’d almost let her real name slip to the overprotective firefighter. Thank goodness Mrs. Harboyle had been away at her daughter’s for Thanksgiving.

  Kara’s vision blurred. Her landlady’s home was destroyed, along with sixty years of memories, and it was all her fault.

  “Hang on,” Jake’s husky voice whispered through her hair, an instant before his hands spanned her waist and hoisted her onto the back of the ambulance.

  Her breath caught. Oh. After the way she’d fought him back there, she hadn’t expected him to be so nice.

  He ditched his hat on the end of the rig, and his sandy brown hair, damp with perspiration, curled over his forehead. “You okay?” he asked, his sweet, lopsided smile not helping her breathe any easier.

  Pressing her palm to her chest, she sank onto the gurney. Listen to her. She shouldn’t be noticing a guy’s smile. Never mind how her heart had twisted when he’d mentioned his motherless son. No one wanted a relationship with a woman with a price on her head.

  Kara startled at the touch of a petite brunette beside her and scrambled to catch up to the questions she was spewing.

  “I think she’s in shock,” Jake said, his deep voice quieting her frayed nerves.

  He seemed genuinely concerned. Could he be someone she could trust? Maybe. Except the marshal had warned her not to trust anyone. Not even the police, because a smart bad guy would pretend to be on her side, pretend to want to help her, pretend to be taking her to safety just long enough to get her somewhere secluded and then slit her throat.

  She gulped, sliding her hand up to her neck. Stick to the rules, the marshal had said, and she’d be okay. They’d never lost a witness who stuck to the rules.

  So how would Deputy Marshal Ray Boyd explain the fire?

  She pushed away the female paramedic’s stethoscope. “I have to go.” For all she knew, the paramedic worked for the adoption ring, too. She glanced from one blocked door to the other, her heart racing. Anyone here could work for it. Be waiting for the chance to finish her off.

  “It’s going to be okay,” the paramedic soothed in the kind of voice Kara used to use with her kindergarten students. “I can quickly dress this wound and then the sheriff can ask his questions. Okay?”

  The sheriff, right. Kara wiped sweaty palms down her slacks. She needed to stay calm. If they thought she was in shock, the sheriff might insist she go to the hospital. And it would be way to
o easy for her attacker to get to her there.

  “Kara?” the paramedic’s voice filtered through her frenetic thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, pardon?”

  “I asked on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain in your arm?”

  “Oh.”

  Jake stood at the rear door, watching her, his warm blue eyes radiating concern.

  She ducked her head. The pain was bad, really bad, but if she admitted that, they’d dope her up and send her to the hospital and she’d miss her meeting. The marshal might not find her.

  “Kara?” The paramedic split open what looked like a ketchup packet. “How bad?”

  Kara shrugged. “Not bad. Honest. A four maybe.”

  The paramedic clasped Kara’s wrist and started squeezing the packet over the wound.

  Blinding pain streaked down her arm. “Ah!” She jerked from the paramedic’s grasp. Bandages tumbled to the floor.

  The paramedic swiped at the gel that had spilled from the packet onto her leg. “I’d better give you something for the pain,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Kara thrust out her arm. “No, really. That’s not necessary.” Nausea churned her gut. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me.”

  The woman raised her eyebrow and slanted a glance at Jake with a slight shake of her head.

  Kara tried not to wince as the paramedic dabbed the remaining gel around the blistered portions.

  “Most of the burn is first degree,” the paramedic explained as she wrapped a bandage around the arm.

  Kara swallowed again and again. Why had the marshal suggested a place so far away to meet? With her car covered in debris, not to mention blocked in the driveway by fire engines, she’d have to walk, and...

  “These blistered portions are second degree,” the paramedic went on. “I’m afraid they’re going to hurt a lot more than a four before they get better.”

  Yeah, they already did. A black haze slid over Kara’s vision.