Badge Of Honor

“I have to go. It’s a family matter. It has nothing to do with this case, Sergeant.”

Nick wanted to believe her. The problem was the fear he saw in her dark brown eyes. “What does it have to do with, then?”

Sarah looked around uncomfortably. “My sister’s…safety. I can’t talk about it.”

“Not here, you mean? Not to me?”

She looked him in the eye and he knew something was wrong. “Just trust me—you don’t need to know.”

Nick felt the knife in his back again. Except this petite woman was standing right in front of him. “You’re leaving before finishing reports. I’d say I need to know. You may have FBI credentials, but it’s my duty to make sure you know how to survive on the streets. And I can assure you a distracted police officer may be a danger to herself and her partner.”

The silence between them lengthened. Her voice softened. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” She glanced up at him. “Never.”

To Carol Steward, selling a book is much like riding a roller coaster—every step of the process, every sale brings that exhilarating high. During the less exciting times, she’s busy gathering ideas and refilling her cup. Writing brings a much-needed balance to her life, since she has her characters share lessons she has learned, as well.

When she’s not working at the University of Northern Colorado, you can usually find her spending time with her husband of over thirty years, writing and thanking God she survived raising her own three children, to reap His rewards of playing with her adorable grandchildren.

Throughout all the different seasons of life, God has continued to teach Carol to turn to Him. She has also learned to simplify her life and appreciate her many blessings—His gift of creativity, sharing her love for God with readers and setting an example of what God can do when we say, “Yes, God, take me, shape me, use me.” To find out more about Carol’s slightly crazy life and her books, visit her Web site at www.carolsteward.com.

For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in His steps. He committed no sin; no guile was found on his lips. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he trusted to him who judged justly.

—I Peter 2:21–23

This book could not have come together without the support of many dear friends and loved ones. First, for understanding that it kills me to miss the chance to spend time with all of you. Know that you’re always near my thoughts, even when I’m writing. You’ll see what I mean. Second, for not only understanding, but helping me through the rough spots, whether it’s cooking dinner—again—or a massage, or helping me throw out a scene and make it better. You’re all the greatest inspiration I could ever ask for.

Again, to my editor, Melissa—I can’t thank you enough.

To my wonderful husband, Dave. Thanks for taking

a chance on me and never letting me give up on my dreams. Thirty years and counting!

To my daughter, Sarah, and her husband, who are

both a true blessing to me, and whose real-life determination to forever live up to being the oldest breathed life into a cookie-cutter character. God bless you both.

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

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Nick Matthews marched into the precinct, a wave of silence rippling in his wake. His life had changed forever. Even here, with the men and women who had been his friends and defended his life, the shadow of doubt tainted his return. He wouldn’t be able to repair the damage to his honor overnight, but he wasn’t about to walk away.

Fighting crime was his life.

Nick noticed a petite woman walk into the building next to him and turned to investigate. Opening the door to the administrative wing of the police station, he held it as she hurried through.

“Thank you,” she said, tossing her full hair over her shoulder.

He nodded, trying to turn off the guilt of admiring a pretty woman. He wasn’t committed to anyone anymore. Ronda had taken care of that with one swift judgment.

With his conscience cleared, Nick turned to introduce himself, stopped when the FBI seal on her navy polo shirt stole his interest.

His adrenaline kicked into high gear, like it did when he was working a case. Why was the FBI here? What was she investigating? Or should he ask who?

Before he could say anything, she turned down the hall toward the shift commander’s office and disappeared without another word.

Nick entered the men’s locker room preoccupied with thoughts of the woman in the FBI shirt. As he made his way through, he heard someone say, “There was another assault last night.”