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  PRAISE FOR KAREN BALL’S NOVELS

  Shattered Justice

  “Karen Ball speaks to the heart. Readers will fall in love with her realistic characters and gripping story line in Shattered Justice. A surefire hit!”—KAREN KINGSBURY, bestselling author of One Tuesday Morning and Beyond Tuesday Morning

  “Whenever Karen Ball dips her writer’s pen into the inkwell of real life, she grasps it with a velvet hand and crafts a story that gives readers eternal truths written on a scroll of enduring hope. These are the stories that soothe a wounded spirit and lift a weary soul.”—ROBIN JONES GUNN, bestselling author of Sisterchicks Down Under

  “Shattered Justice is for anyone who has ever known grief or asked God, ‘Why me?’ Karen Ball paints a beautiful picture of redemption and regeneration, and shows that even our suffering sometimes has a greater purpose. Keep a box of tissues handy, because you’re going to need it!”—TERRI BLACKSTOCK, bestselling author of River’s Edge

  A Test of Faith

  “Anyone who has ever struggled in a mother-daughter relationship will identify with A Test of Faith. The story is as real as the evening newspaper. It was as if I was reading about my own mother, my own daughter, and perhaps more profoundly, reading about myself.”—DEBBIE MACOMBER, New York Times bestselling author

  “As a mother of daughters, I was quickly drawn into the world of Anne and Faith. I laughed and I cried throughout A Test of Faith. And at the end, I thanked God for my own mother and daughters. Thank you, Karen Ball, for this beautiful and memorable story.”—ROBIN LEE HATCHER, bestselling author of Beyond the Shadows

  The Breaking Point

  “The Breaking Point is compelling and strikingly honest. This story touches the heart and gives hope for struggling marriages. Karen Ball writes with clarity, depth, and power. It’s a pleasure to recommend this engaging and memorable book.”—RANDY ALCORN, bestselling author of Safely Home

  “The Breaking Point is must-reading for any couple seeking God’s ideal in this wonderful covenant we know as marriage.”—ANGELA ELWELL HUNT, bestsellng author of The Debt

  “Gut-wrenching in its honesty and passion, The Breaking Point packs a powerful message of obedience and God’s healing.”—BRANDILYN COLLINS, bestselling author of Brink of Death

  “A heartfelt novel about the craggy recesses of marriage—where God does some of His best work. Karen Ball’s writing is emotionally gripping and full of insight.”—JAMES SCOTT BELL, bestselling author of Breach of Promise

  NOVELS BY KAREN BALL

  Shattered Justice

  A Test of Faith

  The Breaking Point

  “Bride on the Run” in the 3 Weddings and a Giggle anthology

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SHATTERED JUSTICE

  published by Multnomah Books

  © 2005 by Karen Ball

  Scripture quotations are from:

  Holy Bible, New Living Translation

  © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  The Living Bible (TLB)

  © 1971. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  The Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV)

  © 1973, 1984 by International Bible Society, used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House

  Revised Standard Version Bible (RSV) (including Apocrypha)

  © 1946, 1952 by the Division of Christian Education

  of the National Council of the Churches of Christ

  in the United States of America

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown

  Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

  MULTNOMAH and its mountain colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

  For information:

  MULTNOMAH BOOKS

  12265 ORACLE BOULEVARD, SUITE 200

  COLORADO SPRINGS, CO 80921

  eISBN: 978-0-307-56332-3

  v3.1_r1

  For my brothers, Kevin and Kirk.

  It was easy to write about a strong and loving sibling relationship because of you two. You’re two of my best friends.

  You guys have always been there, teasing me, encouraging me, driving me nuts and making my life richer—and lots more fun.

  Thank you for all you are. Thank you for all you’ve given me. Thank you for the ways you’ve helped me grow in my faith.

  Thanks, most of all, for loving me the way you do and for being the best brothers ever. I love you guys.

  Even when you drive me nuts.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Reader’s Guide

  Preview of Kaleidoscope Eyes

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I always try to make my books as accurate as possible, especially when I’m depicting something like law enforcement. However, I confess I have taken some definite liberties in this particular book. I needed Dan Justice to live and work in a rural Oregon mountain community. There was just one problem: That’s not the way things work with the Jackson County Sheriff’s department. Not now, anyway. Years ago, I’m told, we had deputies devoted to the more remote areas of our region. Sadly, as has happened in many states, budget cuts have cost us far too many positions in law enforcement, and our devoted sheriff and deputies are spread woefully thin. Even so, they do a great job of keeping Jackson County and the Rogue Valley a wonderful and safe place to live.

  Fortunately for my story, a fictitious benefactor came along and donated funds for a test program that would bring a sheriff’s deputy to live and work in my little made-up town. And while that and some other elements aren’t true to life, I’ve done my best to be as factual as possible, whenever possible.

  To that end, my sincere gratitude goes to Jackson County Deputy Michael Hermant for his patience in answering my questions regarding the ways things work in the sheriff’s department. I so appreciate your kin
dness as you shared your time and expertise with me. Your input was invaluable. Thank you!

  Trust Him when dark doubts assail thee,

  Trust Him when thy strength is small,

  Trust Him when to simply trust Him

  Seems the hardest thing of all.

  Trust Him, He is ever faithful,

  Trust Him, for His will is best,

  Trust Him, for the heart of Jesus

  Is the only place of rest.

  ANONYMOUS

  “Listen, O heavens, and I will speak;

  hear, O earth, the words of my mouth.

  Let my teaching fall like rain

  and my words descend like dew,

  like showers on new grass,

  like abundant rain on tender plants.

  I will proclaim the name of the LORD.

  Oh, praise the greatness of our God!

  He is the Rock, his works are perfect,

  and all his ways are just.

  A faithful God who does no wrong,

  upright and just is he.”

  DEUTERONOMY 32:1–4 (NIV)

  Prologue

  “We are not at peace with others because we

  are not at peace with ourselves, and we are not at

  peace with ourselves because we are not at peace with God.”

  THOMAS MERTON

  “What I always feared has happened to me.

  What I dreaded has come to be. I have no peace, no quietness.

  I have no rest; instead, only trouble comes.”

  JOB 3:25–26

  DAN JUSTICE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT WOKE HIM, WHAT pulled him from the heavy weight of drugged sleep. A sound. One that didn’t belong in the empty silence of his house.

  He closed his eyes. House. Not a home. Just an empty shell where he lived with his memories.

  The sound came again. He forced his eyelids up, his vision to focus, and turned his head toward the window. A tree branch scraped against the glass, driven by pelting raindrops and a fierce wind.

  A storm.

  Yeah, well, why not? The weather might as well fit with the rest of his life. Dark. Raging.

  Hopeless.

  Bitterness burned at the back of his throat as Dan pushed his heavy limbs to a sitting position.

  This was why he didn’t like taking those crummy pills. Sure, they made him sleep—were the only way he slept anymore—but it took too long to shake them off.

  Even longer to shake off the dreams they set loose.

  Yeah. No sleep beat a night of tortured dreams. He rubbed a hand over his face. Coffee. He needed coffee.

  He made his way to the kitchen, his head heavy, feeling every one of his nearly forty years. And then some. He pulled the cupboard open, reaching for the coffee …

  Instead, his fingers closed around something hard. Cold. He removed it from the cupboard, holding it, studying it. It fit in his hand with deadly precision; its size belying its power. So compact … barely larger than his hand. The perfect size, which was why he’d chosen this one to put in the cupboard … when? How long ago did he do that? Decide his family needed a measure of protection in the home?

  He hoped—no, prayed—they’d never need it. But he’d seen too much in his work as a sheriff’s deputy. And then the threats started. So he brought it home. Put it in the cupboard. Just in case …

  He made sure they knew how to use it. Showed them where the ammo was stored, in a small can that once held cocoa.

  “Do it like this.” Now, as he’d done then to demonstrate the moves, he flipped the top of the container open with a thumb, scooped the loaded magazine free, and slid it into place—all with a minimum of motion and sound.

  He had them practice until they could perform the action with ease. Was so proud of the way they’d taken his instructions to heart, the seriousness of their study. They were ready. He made sure of that.

  What a pathetic waste of time.

  His fingers fisted over the gun. All his precautions, all his painstaking preparation and planning … none of it mattered. He hadn’t been able to protect them. To keep them safe. All his life, he’d worked to keep people safe. To see justice done—

  Justice. What a laugh. There was no justice. No right. No wrong. No innocent. No guilty.

  That’s just the pain talking. You don’t believe that.

  Believe. The laugh that sliced through the silence was hoarse, wrenched from deep in his gut. What did belief matter? Did it stop evil? Save those who deserved it? Make the guilty pay?

  Hardly.

  Justice was a myth. A nice little fairy tale to make children feel safe so they could sleep—

  Sorrow cut as deep as any shard of glass, piercing him. No. Justice didn’t exist. He’d been a fool to think it did. There was only …

  His gaze lowered to the cold steel in his hand.

  This. There was only this.

  He shifted the gun in his hand, letting it settle into place. Nestle in his palm, supported by the finger that lay along the barrel. Single action. Semiautomatic. A masterpiece of precision. Reaching with his other hand, he gripped the barrel, slid it back, and heard the round chamber—the sound equal parts comfort and caution, allure and alarm.

  One flick, one small motion, and the gun would be ready.

  Ready for what? What are you doing?

  He drew a deep breath. What was he doing?

  A single movement, a tiny click told him the deed was done.

  The safety was off.

  What was he doing?

  The one thing he promised he’d never do.

  The one thing left that he could do.

  Stop the pain.

  Forever.

  ONE

  “A name is the blueprint of the thing we call character.

  You ask, What’s in a name?

  I answer, Just about everything you do.”

  MORRIS MANDEL

  “ ‘What is your name?

  For when all this comes true, we want to honor you.’ ”

  JUDGES 13:17

  GO OFF.

  Dan Justice stared down at his pager. Hard. Concentrating. Go off, darn you. Go off …

  “Justice, will you relax? You’re drivin’ me nuts!”

  Dan looked at his irritated partner. “Aw, I’m sorry, man. It’s just, well, you know.”

  Steve waved off Dan’s words, then his big paw went back to rest on the cruiser’s steering wheel. “Yeah, I know. But it’s not like this is your first.”

  Dan couldn’t restrain his crooked grin. “Not like it’s my tenth, either.”

  Steve’s brows arched under his hat. Though few sheriff’s deputies wore the hats anymore, Steve seemed surgically attached to his. From the minute he reached the station, he didn’t take it off. Dan couldn’t imagine it. He loved almost everything about his job as a Jackson County sheriff’s deputy, except the hat. “You making fun of me, partner?”

  Dan put his hands in front of him, chuckling. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Any man crazy … er, brave enough to have ten kids has my respect and admiration.”

  The punch to Dan’s arm was as good-natured as it was solid. “Riiight. Whatever you say, bucko. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you can’t sit there watchin’ your watch—”

  “I wasn’t watching my watch.”

  “—or your beeper, thinkin’ the kid’s comin’ any minute.” Steve steered the state patrol cruiser to the highway off-ramp. “Babies show up when they’re good ’n’ ready. And nothin’ we do will rush ’em.”

  Dan leaned back against the seat. “Yeah, I guess you’re ri—stop!”

  Steve slammed on the brakes. The cruiser fishtailed, then came to a screeching halt. “What?” He looked around, eyes wide, hand already reaching for the release on his seat belt. “What did you see?”

  Dan took in Steve’s tensed state. He was ready for action. Dan swallowed. Oh boy. Steve was not going to be happy with him.

  He frowned at Dan. “What’s goin’ on?”

  Dan
offered a sheepish grin by way of apology and pointed to the side of the road. “A flower shop.”

  Steve’s gaze narrowed, and he peered through Dan’s window. “A flower shop? Did you see someone inside with a gun?”

  Might as well bite the bullet and admit it. “No. Just … flowers.”

  Understanding was slow in coming, but Dan knew the millisecond it hit his partner. If the hard glitter in Steve’s eyes hadn’t signaled it, the edge to his voice certainly would have.

  “Flowers. Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” He read the sign above the door. “That’s a flower shop—something, I understand, they have in abundance here in good ol’ Medford, Oregon. So you yell at me to stop. For flowers.”

  With a sigh that came from somewhere in the basement, Steve pulled the cruiser to the curb. “You got five minutes.”

  Dan was out of the car in a heartbeat. He was inside the shop and at the counter in two. “Hello?”

  No answer. Dan surveyed the interior of the store. Wasn’t anyone working? He could almost hear precious minutes ticking away. “Hey, anyone here?”

  Dan wasn’t sure what he heard first—the scream or the sound of glass shattering. But the next sound was one he recognized all too well.

  A gunshot.

  His senses slammed into full alert, and he drew his gun as he keyed the mic at his shoulder. “Gunshots fired! Get in here, Steve!”

  Vaulting the counter, Dan headed for a large set of double swinging doors, which probably led to some kind of storeroom. From the sound of things, that’s where the action was. Fortunately, there were windows in the doors, so he should be able to get the lay of the land before he went in.

  As he drew near the doors, he heard a loud voice. Male. Angry.

  No. Furious. Like a bull moose out of control.

  Pounding footsteps had Dan spinning, but he relaxed when he saw Steve coming, weapon drawn.

  “I called for backup. Whaddya got?”

  “One gunshot.” Dan indicated the doors. “Sounds like a fight going on.”