The words hit her like fists. Maddie was dying?
âMaybe we can catch up later,â Heller said.
She couldnât answer, could hear only the echo of the words not expected to make it. She remembered the last time sheâd seen Maddie, the accusations sheâd thrown at her. The anger and hurt and confusion that had filled her.
The wrong sheâd done Maddie. And April and Eliza.
Jo felt sick. It had been years since sheâd thought about that last day. She turned and almost ran back to her desk. She had to get her reports done and talk to the lieutenant. She needed time offâneeded to get home. To see Maddie and apologize. To talk to her one more time. She had to get to Maraville before Maddie diedâto see if she could make things right.
Dear Reader,
Sometimes teenagers do foolish things. Most of the time, the repercussions are minimal. But in Jo Hunterâs case, her one revengeful lie changed the lives of many people. Itâs a guilt sheâs lived with for twelve years. Now an unexpected encounter with someone she once knew sends her on the road back home. Itâs a journey that has unexpected twists that Jo hadnât expected. A second chance at making things turn out as she once had hoped they would, with family, close friends and a future bright with promise.
Come join the adventure of the last of Maddie Oglethorpeâs foster children as Jo learns that sometimes the hardest thing is to forgive oneself. The rewards, however, can be fantastic.
I hope youâve enjoyed the stories of the three foster sisters who are reunited in a way that will bind them together for the future. Do visit my Web site, www.barbaramcmahon.com, and let me know!
Best wishes,
Barbara McMahon
JO HUNTER DRESSED IN the bad-girl attire that was so familiarâblack jeans, black motorcycle boots, tight black T-shirt, spiky hair and an attitude she wore like a shield. She was going to the precinct, but to protect her cover, she dressed the part. If anyone saw her, sheâd bluff her way through by saying sheâd been picked up. It had happened once a couple of years ago. That, of course, had made it even easier for her to infiltrate that particular drug ring. Working undercover vice was dangerous, but also exciting. Some days she wondered if she was risking death just for the adrenaline rush. Mostly, however, she was not introspective, just anxious to rid the Los Angeles streets of the vermin who preyed on the innocent.
Like the bastards sheâd busted last night.
Arriving at the station early, she quickly climbed the worn stairs to the second floor, heading to the desk she shared with Jim Peterson. He worked vice, too, specializing in child porn. That was one vice she didnât want to get involved in. Drugs was her area. Teenage pushers in the local high schools, to be specific. Jo looked far younger than her twenty-eight years and could pass for a high-school kid.
âHey, Jo, nice going on that bust,â one of her fellow officers called out.
She waved and smiled, sitting at the computer and logging on. Jim had different hours. For the most part, sharing the desk worked. She pulled up the arrest records, scanned them, and then opened the word processing program. Jo shut out the sounds of the bullpen and concentrated on writing her report.
An hour later, her shoulders ached from sitting at the computer. Being out and about sure beat working at a desk. Stretching, she decided a cup of coffee and chocolate would revive her, so she headed for the candy machine located on the first floor. God, she hated doing reports.
A minute or two later she was studying the machineâs selectionâlike it had changed in the past five years.
âJo? Jo Hunter?â
She turned, suddenly on her guard. For a minute she didnât recognize the man. Handcuffed and being escorted by a uniformed officer, he was lanky and scruffy and obviously hadnât shaved in a day or two. Whoâ¦? Then she recognized him.
âHeller? Josiah Heller?â For heavenâs sake, it was a guy from her hometown in Mississippi. What were the odds of her ever running into anyone from home here in L.A., much less at the station?
âHey, Jo, looking good,â he said, tugging on the hold the officer had. âHold up, man. I know her.â
Jo glanced at the uniformed cop, no one she recognized. Hoping her cover would hold, she assumed her persona of street tough. âIâd ask howâs it going, but it looks bad,â she said to Heller, motioning to his cuffs.
âWhat are you doing here?â he asked.
âGetting something to eat. They wanted me for questioning. No charge yet. I think the good cop is showing me how fine a dude he is to let me get some candy without someone breathing down my neckâlike they donât have cameras everywhere watching my every move. I head for the door and watch the swarm.â She prayed one of her friends didnât happen along and call out to her.