Honor Redeemed Read online

  Honor Redeemed

  Fasten your seat belts, kiddies, you’re in for a wild ride in Honor Redeemed. Loree Lough has that innate ability as an author to suck her readers into the story from line one. You don’t read a Loree Lough novel, you experience it. Keep it coming, girl.

  —KEN FARMER, co-author of Black Eagle Force: Eye of the Storm and Black Eagle Force: Sacred Mountain

  Loree Lough weaves wonderful tales that inspire hope in her readers’ hearts. It’s hard to find an author who can match Loree’s descriptive detail and rich characterization. Honor Redeemed will snag readers from page one and carry them through to its satisfying conclusion. Don’t miss this well-told story of love and redemption!

  —SHARLENE MACLAREN, award-winning author of Livvie’s Song, book 1 of the River of Hope series

  From its “you are there” beginning at the site of a plane crash, Loree Lough will hook you and keep you turning the pages to the very end. Honor Redeemed is an honest, heartrending story about two people who must face and overcome personal challenges if they have any hope of a relationship. Lough’s great gift as a storyteller is not only in creating characters you care deeply about, but in testing their limits. Honor Redeemed is a powerful story of the human condition that resonates long after the last page is turned.

  —DEBBI MACK, author of New York Times ebook bestseller Identity Crisis and Kindle bestseller Least Wanted

  Author Loree Lough is a pro at bringing stories and characters to life. She delivers readers right smack-dab into the middle of the action and gives them no choice but to care about the outcome. If you enjoy suspense, romance, and just plain good writing—not to mention a story that honors the courage of America’s first responders—you’ll love Honor Redeemed.

  —KATHI MACIAS, award-winning author of Deliver Me from Evil, book 1 of the Freedom series

  Loree Lough is unsurpassed when it comes to crafting warm, honest characters whose voices remain in memory long after the tale has been told. Her deft use of dialog and intense, personal plotting draws you right inside the story and makes you feel as though every character is a friend, every emotional twist part of a personal journey. Her stories just get better and better, each more unput-downable than the one before. The name Loree Lough on the cover means beauty and grace on the page. Honor Redeemed is a powerful, exciting story … another in an ever-lengthening list of must-reads by this talented author.

  —L. G. VERNON, author of Wilderness Road

  When you pick up a novel from Loree Lough, it’s like picking up a map, because she takes you on journeys that transport you to other times and places, and with each trip, you’re sure to find yourself in each story. Honor Redeemed is one of those stories. It’s so perfectly written that when you close that last page, you’ll find yourself craving more from this talented author.

  —ROBIN PRATER, reviewer for Robin’s Nest

  Loree Lough writes characters who are so real, they become your friends as you immerse yourself in her powerful, uplifting stories. Charming humor, snappy realistic dialog, and vivid settings that make you feel you’re living in the pages will send readers on a wonderful journey. Honor Redeemed will make you laugh, cry, and turn that final page with a satisfied sigh, because Loree has woven a rich tapestry of love and redemption that will warm your heart.

  —DIANa DUNCAN, author of Taken by the Highlander

  Honor Redeemed

  Copyright © 2012 by Loree Lough

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68299-867-0

  Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202

  www.abingdonpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form,

  stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website,

  or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital,

  electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without

  written permission from the publisher, except for brief

  quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are

  the creations of the author, and any resemblance

  to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lough, Loree.

  Honor redeemed / Loree Lough.

  p. cm. — (First responders series ; bk. 2)

  ISBN 978-1-4267-1316-3 (trade pbk. : alk. paper)

  1. Aircraft accidents—Maryland—Baltimoe—Fiction. 2. First responders—Fiction. 3. Search and rescue operations—Fiction.

  I. Title.

  PS3562.O8147H66 2012

  813’.54—dc23

  2011037244

  Scripture is from the King James or Authorized Version of Bible.

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 /17 16 15 14 13 12

  To Larry, my real-life hero and the love of my life

  Acknowledgments

  I’m so grateful to everyone at T-Bonz Steakhouse and Grill in Ellicott City, Maryland, for sharing the restaurant space with me, just as they regularly share it with real first responders.

  Much appreciation to Susannah Charleson, whose writing talents proved so amazing that I had to remind myself, time and again, that I was reading Scent of the Missing as research!

  Finally, my warm and heartfelt thanks to reallive first responders—cops, firefighters, EMTs, and of course, search and rescue teams and their remarkable, hardworking canine partners—whose dedication and courage make America a better, safer place.

  From Ashes to Honor, Book 1 of the First Responders Series

  Suddenly Daddy/Suddenly Mommy (2 full-length contemporary romances)

  The Lone Star Legends series: Beautiful Bandit, Maverick Heart, Rio Grande Moon

  Prevailing Love series (3 full-length contemporary romances)

  Tales of the Heart series (3 full-length historical romances)

  Love Finds You in Paradise, Pennsylvania

  Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska

  Be Still … and Let Your Nail Polish Dry (devotional with Andrea Boeshaar, Sandra D. Bricker, and Debby Mayne)

  Author’s Note

  It doesn’t take much, does it, to remind us of the nightmare that unfolded on 9/11. Blink once, and picture the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, disappearing into blistering clouds of smoke. Blink again, and envision hundreds of first responders, digging through smoldering rubble in New York, DC, and Shanksville with one shared goal: find the missing.

  And find them, they did. In the process, some responders lost limbs, eyesight, or hearing, and still others lost their lives. One of the best definitions of “hero” I’ve ever read can be found in the Bible. “Greater love hath no man than this,” Jesus said, “that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13 KJV). Remarkably, these courageous souls routinely lay down their lives … for total strangers!

  Police officers, firefighters, EMTs, search and rescue personnel, and U.S. soldiers all begin every operation to serve and protect. I pray the First Responders series will honor the valiant men and women—and their fearless canine partners— who willingly face unknown dangers each time they report for duty.

  When an emergency vehicle, or a guy or gal in uniform crosses your path, it isn’t always possible to step up and say thanks for what they do, but it is possible to salute them— if only in our minds—and echo the First Responders Prayer (written by Reverend Robert A. Crutchfield):

  Father in Heaven,

  Please make me strong when others are weak, brave when others are afraid, and vigilant when others are distracted by chaos. Provide comfort and companionship to my family when I must be away. Serve beside me an
d protect me, as I seek to protect others.

  Amen

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer;

  my God, my strength, in whom I will trust.

  —Psalm 18:2

  1

  02:00

  November 1

  Patapsco State Park, near Baltimore, Maryland

  Honor Mackenzie shivered, and not just because the temperature had dipped to near-freezing. The far-off wail of a coyote harmonized with the moaning wind, and the creak of leafless trees only intensified the ghostly atmosphere.

  Crisscrossing beams of high-powered flashlights sliced through the sleety black haze and shimmered from the river’s surface. The Patapsco River seemed alive tonight, pulsing and undulating like a monstrous turbid snake. From deep in the woods, Honor felt the cagey stares of a thousand unblinking eyes and shivered again as she panned a wide arc, walking backward every few steps; the crash had probably sent every critter scurrying … but that’s what she’d told herself those scary hours with Uncle Mike, and the night a feral dog bulleted from the underbrush, teeth bared and snarling and—

  “Is it just me,” Elton huffed, jogging up beside her, “or do I smell gas?”

  She jumped, then jumped again to make the first one look like an attempt to maneuver around a tree root. “Maybe it’s that swill you claim takes off the chill.” Elton was a good guy but got way too much pleasure from scaring her out of her shoes.

  A puckish grin warned her to brace herself, but before he could deliver a biting comeback, a frantic baritone blasted through the fog: “Over here!”

  “Sending up a flare,” hollered another.

  Most of the Boeing 747 that plummeted from the mid-November sky during rush hour had landed square in the middle of I-95. The cops shut down all lanes in both directions to enable the two available medevac copters to airlift passengers of the airliner—and those in the vehicles it had crushed—to Baltimore’s shock trauma. And because eyewitnesses reported seeing fiery bits of the plane falling due north of the explosion, Honor’s search and rescue squad was sent into Patapsco State Park. Her unit included a couple of young guys just returning from Texas, where they’d earned wilderness certifications. Like thoroughbreds at the gate, both chomped at the bit to prove they could keep up with more experienced personnel. With any luck, they hadn’t yet heard the rumors about her past and wouldn’t pummel her with the usual acerbic questions when the mission ended.

  The scent of jet fuel grew stronger with every step, and she thanked God for the sleet. Yes, it added to their physical discomforts, but it would douse any embers hiding in the wreckage. Helped her focus on the task, instead of potential taunts, too. Elton stopped walking so fast that his boots sent up a spray of damp leaves. His voice was barely a whisper when he grated, “Oh, my God!”

  Honor followed his line of vision. “Oh, my God” was right.

  There, in the clearing a few yards to their left, was the tail section of the airliner. Like a beached whale, it teetered belly up on the bank, one mangled wing pointing skyward, the top half of the airline’s logo submerged in riverbed muck. Twin witch-finger pillars of smoke spiraled upward, as if reaching for the treetops in a last-ditch attempt to pull itself free of the sludge.

  A nanosecond later, they were on the move again, hopping over rivulets carved into the earth by rushing rainwater, ducking under lowlying pine boughs as they picked their way closer. Two pink palms slapped against a window, and between them, the bloodied and terrified face of a boy no more than ten. The sight startled Elton so badly that he lost his footing in the slimy mud. Arms windmilling, he staggered backward a step or two before regaining his balance. “Donaldson!” he bellowed.

  “Kent? That you?”

  “No,” Elton snarled, “it’s your old maid auntie.” He muttered something under his breath, then added, “Fire up the radio. Let ‘em know we need more boots on the ground. And equipment, on the double. We’ve got survivors!”

  Well, at least one survivor, Honor thought, closing in on the craft. She hopped onto the rain-slicked wing and inched nearer the window, then lay her palm against the glass and matched the kid’s handprint, finger for finger. “You’re okay,” she said, trying to look like she believed it. Not an easy feat, now that she’d aimed her flashlight’s beam over his shoulder. Only God knew what he’d seen, or which of his family members lay motionless at his feet. She’d seen that frantic expression before, and it reminded her of the day when the Susquehanna overflowed its banks and slammed through a Boy Scout camp. After hours of searching for one still-missing kid, something made her look up, and she found him, clinging to a tree. Though the water had receded, he’d been too frantic to climb down. She’d probably said “Don’t be scared” a dozen times before he found his voice. “Why do grown-ups always say dumb things like that?” he’d demanded.

  And she’d never uttered the words again.

  “You’re okay,” she repeated now. “Help is on the way.”

  “Mackenzie, get down from there.”

  The poor kid’s pleading, teary eyes locked with hers, seeking reassurance and hope, and she couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t walk away, either.

  In the window’s reflection, she saw Elton behind her, pointing toward the biggest column of smoke. “I’m dead serious, Mack. Get down from there,” he repeated, this time through clenched teeth.

  A second later, the heat of yellow and orange flames flared on her right. The boy saw it, too, as evidenced by a pitiful wail that, because of the thick, double-paned window, no one outside the airplane could hear. “Help is coming,” she said again.

  And please God, she prayed, let it get here fast.

  2

  Matt parked as far from the crash site as possible, not only to avoid getting mired in the mud but also to ensure he could sneak up on the scene. The tactic helped him get lead stories before, and with any luck, it would work this time, too.

  He’d been on high alert since the call came in from Liam Wills, the editor who, according to his wife, showered and slept with his police scanner. “Phillips,” he’d barked into the phone, “drop what you’re doing and drag your sorry butt over to I-95.” Liam’s voice had that edgy “this is a headline story” quality to it, so Matt wasted no time dialing Mrs. Ruford. House phone pressed to one ear, cell phone attached to the other, he’d arranged for Harriet to stay with the twins while assuring Liam that he was on his way.

  He’d spent nearly two hours on the interstate, observing, listening, grabbing a quote here and a radio transmission there, then headed over to the Patapsco. Now, wearing a thick brown Carhartt jacket and yellow reflective vest—the closest match to fire department gear he could find in the Cabela’s catalog—he wished he’d kissed his sleeping sons’ foreheads before leaving home. More than likely, he’d make it back before they woke up, but even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t surprise them to find their favorite sitter, cooking an old-fashioned country breakfast when they came downstairs. H
e’d packed their lunches and book bags after supper, same as always, and it wasn’t like they’d know he hadn’t said that final, quiet goodbye, but he’d know, and it ate at him. If he’d planned better …

  Friends and family claimed he had a rabid case of OCD and followed the accusation with “you should see a shrink about that.” Matt took it with good-natured ease because his Marine training taught him that a man can never be too prepared or too organized. He chucked his well-supplied rucksack behind a tree and scanned every face at the crash site. For his purposes, Matt needed a rookie, and they were easy to spot, thanks to overconfident “been here, done this a lot” expressions. He’d spent enough time, volunteering on SAR missions, to know that a true pro, having really done this a lot, looked a whole lot more tense and a little bit suspicious, especially of reporters. And who could blame them, considering how often they got the facts wrong?

  He spotted a newbie on the fringes of the tree line, arms crossed and wearing his best “I’m calm and in control” frown. Matt sidled up and mimicked the younger man’s stance. “Man. What a mess, huh?”

  “Yeah, and weird.” He shook his head. “I read Chicken Little to my kid, just this afternoon.”

  Matt picked up on the newbie’s “things are falling out of the sky” parallel. “What in blue blazes happened?”

  “I’m guessing mechanical failure, but—”

  “Okay, Phillips,” a gravelly voice interrupted, “assume the position.” Sergeant Sam Norley stomped up, his size-fourteen police-issue shoes splattering muddy rainwater on both men’s pants cuffs.

  Matt grinned. “What’s the charge this time?”