Operation Second Chance

His guilt tore them apart

Can the truth set them free?

Ex-cop Adam Kirk has never forgiven himself for his partner’s murder. Neither has Amanda Bonner, the daughter left behind. But when new clues into the crime surface, Adam and Amanda form an unlikely partnership, which becomes their only chance to achieve justice. Duty soon leads to passion...and attempts on Amanda’s life. Will Adam lose the woman he’s come to love before he can expose the killer?

JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by and sharing the neighborhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two, and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favorite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Connect with Justine on her website, justinedavis.com, at Twitter.com/justine_d_davis or on Facebook at Facebook.com/justinedaredavis.

Also By Justine Davis

The Coltons of Roaring Springs

Colton’s Secret Investigation

Cutter’s Code

Operation Midnight

Operation Reunion

Operation Blind Date

Operation Unleashed

Operation Power Play

Operation Homecoming

Operation Soldier Next Door

Operation Alpha

Operation Notorious

Operation Hero’s Watch

Operation Second Chance

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton’s Twin Secrets

The Coltons of Texas

Colton Family Rescue

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Operation Second Chance

Justine Davis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90527-9

OPERATION SECOND CHANCE

© 2020 Janice Davis Smith

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“It’s okay,” Amanda heard him say. “You’re out.”

“I...”

“You’re bleeding,” he said suddenly, sharply.

She realized it hadn’t been rainwater she’d felt dripping down her face. And then Adam was touching her cheek. It was so cold out, or she was in shock because just that touch felt almost unbearably warm. Hot, even. It sent a jolt through her that brought her back to her senses.

“The car,” she moaned, hating that she was leaning on him but unable to quite find her footing. Even as she looked, the rain was dousing the flames, yet she could see how badly the car was damaged.

Adam was looking at Amanda’s head now, gently pushing her hair back to inspect. “Look at me.” She didn’t want to look at him, not him. “Amanda, look at me. Forget who I am for a moment. You hit your head and I need to see your eyes.”

She looked up then. Odd. She didn’t remember his eyes being that dark. They were the same color as the sky, gray, stormy.

And worried.

That was sweet. She almost smiled. Then she remembered who he was.

Be sure to check out the rest of the books in this miniseries.

Cutter’s Code: A clever and mysterious canine helps a group of secret operatives crack the case

Dear Reader,

When writing a long (this is book eleven!) series like Cutter’s Code, there are always secondary characters that stick in your mind. Characters who, when you finish the book, make you think, “Hmm. Maybe someday...”

Amanda Bonner was one of those. A fatal shooting brought her into the life of Quinn Foxworth years ago, even before his own life was turned around by Hayley Cole and her dog, Cutter. And I always intended to go back and see how she was doing after the night that fractured her life. When I did, I discovered that a lot more had happened that night than I’d ever realized.

So now that clever canine Cutter has made it clear she has a problem, the Foxworth Foundation, and perhaps only the Foxworth Foundation—and Cutter—can help her. And it brings back into her life the very man she has blamed all this time for the shooting that destroyed her world.

I hope you enjoy the read as much as I enjoyed bringing some happiness to two lost souls.

Justine

For Molly.

We rescued her after she ran away from her old home. It was always a point of pride that she never wanted to run away from us. She was meant to be mine, but she was really my dad’s best friend. My brother’s, too.

For sixteen years (I can’t believe it!) we were greeted by the rapid thump of her tail when we walked through the door. My dad and I taught her to howl on command—we’d sit on the floor in front of the couch and howl together. She loved tennis balls, chasing after birds and the extra ice that slipped out of the ice maker.

She had the softest golden fur, freckles on her nose and big trusting eyes. I’m convinced I’ll never meet another like her, and I’m okay with that—she deserves to be irreplaceable. The joy she brought to our home cannot be measured; I am lucky to have known a spirit like hers.

We love you, Hooch.

—Shannon, Brandon and Dad

This is the latest in a series of dedications from readers who have shared the pain of the loss of a beloved dog. Since I personally knew Molly (and my dog still looks for her every time we visit) I truly understand the pain of missing that tail that, even when she had the shakes and could no longer see or hear well, never stopped wagging. There’s a lesson for all of us in that, I think.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

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

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

It took every bit of determination Amanda Bonner had in her to walk across that grassy stretch once more. She knew the way so well it didn’t matter that it was still dark, sunrise not coming until seven thirty this time of year in the Northwest. In fact, she was surprised there wasn’t a path worn by her feet, so many times had she been here.

Amanda wished she could make the change, move from mourning her father’s death with visits to this quiet cemetery on that grim anniversary to celebrating that he had lived and loved her by visiting on his birthday instead. But it had been five years, and she felt no closer to being able to do that.

She’d reached it, that cold, metallic rectangle set in the grass. The small flag that was always there was slightly crooked, and she straightened it with the same reverence her father would have shown. The grave site was tidy, well kept, but the department saw to that. Cops took care of their own, even, or perhaps especially when one of them had gone down in the line of duty. They all knew they could be next.

Amanda stared down at the marker. She couldn’t see the letters in the darkness, but she didn’t need to. Her father’s name, and the dates of his birth and death, separated by that line, that short, featureless line that was a pitiful stand-in for the years between, for all the joy and pain, for a life.

In her mind she heard his voice, so clearly, at the funeral of the mother who had been gone for so long now. “It’s the hyphen, Mandy,” he’d said, using the nickname she’d hated, but now would give anything to hear again. “It’s not the dates that matter, it’s the hyphen. It stands for everything in between. The life you live. Do it right.”

He’d done it right. He’d been her hero, and in the end a hero to many more. He’d died doing what he’d sworn to do, protect and serve. He’d saved lives. Not to mention the countless other lives he’d touched, people he’d helped simply by doing his job.

She knelt beside the grave marker, reaching out to touch it. The metal was cold, not at all comforting, but she did it anyway, tracing the letters, avoiding the numbers.

Her throat tightened, and she had to swallow hard, then again, then a third time. She shivered. Despite her determination her eyes filled. She fought it. She was twenty-eight years old, damn it, her father had been dead for five years, and she should be in control of this by now.

She felt no presence, no warmth, no sensation of closeness. She hadn’t expected to. She wasn’t even sure why she kept coming; wherever her father was, if anywhere, it wasn’t here. But it was the only physical place she had, so she came.

She put the blanket she carried down on the grass, then sat on it, facing the mountains to the east. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, huddling against the December predawn chill as she waited for the sunrise.

Adam Kirk fumbled with the strip of fabric at his neck. It was one of the things he hadn’t yet found the solution to, the intricate motions of knotting a tie at his throat one-handed, and with his nondominant hand. But he would. Someday.

His cell phone chirped a reminder that he was supposed to leave in ten minutes. With a sigh he surrendered. He pulled off the blue tie and held it in front of him, following his sister Natalie’s suggestion that he simply tie it before he put it on. He managed it there, where he could use both hands. He slipped the noose—his father’s word for it—over his head, under the collar of the crisp white shirt, and by pressing the tail end against his chest with his right hand, tightened it neatly with the other.

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

He glanced at the mirror, saw his sister’s face from where she was standing in the doorway of his room. Nat’s brow was furrowed with worry. She’d grown up well. She would never make a mess of her life the way he had.

“Yes, I do,” he answered quietly.

“From what you’ve told me of him, he wouldn’t expect you to.”

“It’s not his expectations I’m dealing with.”

Nat sighed. “You’ve got an outsize sense of responsibility, bro.”

He felt the knot in his gut that had been there since he’d gotten up at 4:00 a.m. tighten another notch. “I am responsible.”

“Stop it. You are not.”

He didn’t answer. There was nothing more to say. He knew what he knew. And the simple fact was that a good, good man, and a good cop, was dead because of him. That five years had passed didn’t change that.

“Please be careful, Adam. It’s such a long drive.”

“Mmm.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow, right? Before the snow hits?”

She sounded anxious. He knew it was because the snow that was forecast for the Palouse would likely dump on the Cascade Mountains—which he had to traverse—first.

“Should be,” he said.

“If it’s too bad—”

“Nat, stop.” He turned to look at her. “I love you, but stop.”

He pulled on his heavy jacket in deference to the temperature, which at this hour sat a good five degrees below freezing. If he was lucky, he’d be there before eleven. He had an appointment tomorrow morning, then he’d hit the road back, hopefully beating the near-blizzard they were predicting.

“I started your truck.” He turned to look at her, surprised. She only shrugged. “It’ll be all nice and warm. And I packed you a lunch. Coffee’s in the thermos.”

For a moment he just stared at the young woman who had once been that little girl who had tagged after him like one of the ranch dogs. Then he hugged her, rather fiercely.

“Hey. I’m the big brother, I’m supposed to look out for you.”

“You always have. I’m just paying a little back.” She pulled back slightly and looked up at him. “Will you do one thing for me?”

“If I can.”

“Promise me you’ll think—at least think—about making this the last time?”

He actually had thought of it. Five years seemed...significant somehow. But when did responsibility like this—and guilt—ever end?

You know when. Never.

He kissed her forehead, and headed out into the cold.

And he didn’t make that promise.

The bright winter sun arrowed down from the mountains and through the trees. It was incredibly quiet, as it seemed it should be here in this place. Quinn Foxworth looked out across the sea of green, the tidy, regimented lines of markers. He’d been in places like this too often. And he hated it every time. Even before he’d been old enough to understand what death and forever really meant, he’d hated it.

“I love you for this, you know. That you remember, and honor.”

Hayley’s voice was gentle, her hand soft around his. As always, his heart sped up at the sound of her voice, at her touch. He wondered if he could find the words to tell her how much stronger she made him. How much her quiet understanding meant to him. He would try, later. But right now he’d spotted the small figure huddled by a gravestone halfway down the row.

“She’s here.”

“Do you want some time alone with her?”

He looked at his wife. Smiled at her. “She’ll want to see you as much as me.”

“I doubt that, but thank you. Still, I think I’ll hold back a little. Give you a moment. Here, take these.” She handed him the bouquet of flowers she’d made him stop to pick up on their way here.

Quinn nodded, and gave her hand a squeeze. Then he walked toward the grave and the young woman beside it. She’d obviously been there awhile. From what he knew of this yearly ritual, probably since before the sun rose, never mind the cold. It was warmer now, at least in the sunlight, and she’d shed the heavy coat that now lay beside her on the blanket she was sitting on.

She didn’t seem to notice him as he approached, and he was unsurprised to see the dampness on her cheeks. He knew as well as anyone that grief like this never went away, it only changed.

“Doesn’t seem possible it’s been five years, does it?” he said softly.

Amanda’s head snapped around, and when she saw him she leaped to her feet. “Quinn!”

She ran to him and enveloped him in a hug. He hugged her back. “I won’t ask how you are today, because I can guess.”

She looked up at him. “I know you can. But I’m okay the rest of the time, truly. It’s just today that’s so hard.”

He nodded. “I know. It always will be, to some extent. But your work’s going well.”

She had become what she called a victim advocate shortly after her father’s death. She had told Quinn about her choice that first year, when they had happened to meet here on this same day. “I felt so helpless, and I had so much help from Dad’s friends, and you, making decisions, thinking clearly for me when I couldn’t. I can’t imagine how anyone without that kind of support system survives something like this. So I want to be that system, for people who don’t have anyone else.”

That had been enough for him to contact Charlie and suggest the Foxworth Foundation help out.

“It is,” she answered now. “Thanks to Foxworth and Dad’s insurance. You may get to stop supporting us someday.”

“We’ll support you as long as necessary, and probably after that, too,” Quinn said. “Not sorry you turned down that lucrative job offer?”

Amanda smiled. “No. Working for the city council would have been close to my worst nightmare, although it was nice of Ms. Harris to offer.” She looked up at him intently. “What about you? You’re all right? No...lingering aftereffects?”

“I’m fine.” It was true; he felt nothing more than an occasional tightness from the bullet he’d taken in the moment before he’d grabbed her dying father’s sidearm and taken down the man who’d come out of the shadows and shot them both. Well, and some extreme pleasure when Hayley lingered over the scar above his hip before she journeyed farther south...

She looked around, saying, “Is Hayley with you?” and snapping him out of that pleasant reverie. And then she spotted his wife several yards away and waved at her. “She’s so sweet. No wonder you’re crazy about her.”

“That I am,” Quinn said with a grin, still feeling the heat his last thought had brought on.

Hayley nodded to Amanda, and began to slowly walk toward them as Quinn bent to place the spray of flowers beside the headstone.

“She looks as happy as she did at the wedding,” Amanda said. “And so do you.”

“I am. And I hope she is.”

“Thank you both for coming,” Amanda said. “It means so much to me.”

“Five years felt like it should be marked, somehow,” Quinn said.

“I—”

She stopped abruptly, and Quinn saw her looking past him. Instinctively, he turned. Spotted the man approaching them from the east.

“Adam,” he said softly. “He must have felt the same way.”

“I do not care what Adam Kirk feels, about anything, ever,” Amanda said tightly. “And I’ll be leaving now.”

Quinn’s head snapped back around. There had been nothing short of venom in her voice. It was so unlike her he frowned.

“You still blame him?” he asked.

She frowned. “Of course I do. It was his fault. He could have stopped it, and he didn’t.”

“Amanda, he couldn’t—”

“My father died because he was sloppy. Because he made an assumption. He admits it himself.” Her voice rose slightly. “And I hate him.”

“Believe me,” came a low voice from behind them, “I know. And you’re not alone.”

Quinn turned again, and this time Adam Kirk was close enough for him to see his eyes. And there was a look in them he recognized all too well. They used to call it battlefield guilt.

Survivor’s guilt.

Chapter 2

Both of them. Adam swore to himself over his lousy timing. Quinn Foxworth and Amanda. He would have turned around and come back later if Amanda hadn’t spotted him. But running would only prove her right. Although why that mattered when he already knew she was right, he wasn’t sure.

And so now here he was, about to be face-to-face with the two people who knew the complete truth. The man who, when he’d thought he was innocently stopping for a cup of coffee had ended up doing what Adam should have done that night, and the woman whose life had been forever changed by his mistake.

He made a sharp movement with his right arm, trying to force it. As always, it replied with a jab of pain and a refusal to bend any farther. But the pain was what he’d needed, and he had a grip on his roiling emotions again. Enough that he could at least face Quinn, who was looking at him assessingly, and with a recognition beyond that of realizing who he was.

“Adam,” he said quietly.

“Mr. Foxworth.” He said it respectfully, although he doubted it would make any difference to this man. He glanced at Amanda, who was glaring at him with such hostility he wondered how he was still on his feet. “I’ll...wait,” he said, and turned away from her without saying anything more. He walked a few feet to his right, belatedly realizing someone was there. A woman. But no one he knew.

“Adam.”

He stopped, blinking, as the woman called him by name. “I...don’t know you, do I?”