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“I can’t believe Matthew Strong is pulling out of the race.”
“Shhh!” Raven glared at her sister and turned back to the television.
“There you have it, folks. In the political upset of the year, a candidate that polls favored by a three-to-one margin has withdrawn his name from the race for the senate with only six weeks left until the primary. Matthew Strong’s decision is final, based on personal reasons, which he apparently has no intention of revealing.”
With a sigh, Raven switched off the set. Tense silence reigned in the room and she knew her family was struggling not to ask the question. Finally, she could take the tension no more and she shot to her feet. “Okay, yes. It’s Matthew.”
“Your Matthew?” Her father looked at her over half-glasses.
“Yes.” She rubbed her throbbing temple with the balls of her fingers in an attempt to ease the pressure. My Matthew. Regret for what might have been all those years ago shot through her. She hadn’t allowed herself second guesses. No regretting her decision. So why was her heart suddenly about to pound out of her chest?
TRACEY V. BATEMAN
lives in Missouri with her husband and their four children. She writes full-time and is active in various roles in her home church. She has won several awards for her writing, and credits God’s grace and a limited number of entries for each win. To relax, she enjoys long talks with her husband, reading, music and hanging out with her kids, who can finally enjoy movies she likes. Tracey loves to encourage everyone to dream big. She believes she is living proof that, with God, nothing is impossible.
Betrayal of Trust
Tracey V. Bateman
MILLS & BOON
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Behold, what manner of love the Father has bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.
—1 John 3:1
Lovingly dedicated to the memory of my dad,
Rodney Devine Sr., who passed away several
years ago. He always made me feel safe.
Also to the memory of my father-in-law,
George Bateman. I had no doubt that he loved me.
There is no one like this special man, except
perhaps his wonderful son, my husband.
And to my Abba. Father to the fatherless.
God in Heaven. Thank You for adopting
me into Your family.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for joining me for the third and final book in The Mahoney Sisters series. I never fail to marvel at the love of adoptive parents for their children. Chosen children. Children, who were born to one family, but planted firmly in another. Legally, they are given the same right to the surname and anything their parents have just as though they shared a bloodline.
This is exactly what Jesus does for us. His blood is like an adoption certificate, legally binding us into the family God. We were not God’s original family, but He chose us to become His children. What an awesome gift. We are heirs of salvation. Joint heirs with Jesus.
This is what Raven had to come to understand. That she was part of the Mahoney family just as surely as if she’d been born into Mac Mahoney’s bloodline. He took her as his daughter, raised her as his own, loved her as his own and gave her his name. She was his daughter. All she had to do was come to an understanding of how much Mac loved her. How often do we doubt that God really loves us, that He really wants good things for us? I pray that as you read this book, the “father” love of God spoke to your heart in a special way.
God bless you as you live, move and have your being in Him.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Prologue
Matthew Strong pulled his car into the wooded rest area of the forest reserve and watched a man approach wearing army surplus and tennis shoes. Even from ten feet away, Matthew noticed the grime on his hands. His stringy, greasy hair was held in place by a filthy bandana folded to look like an Indian headband. He sauntered, his shoulders moving with a cocky assurance that grated on Matthew’s nerves.
Fighting to contain his disgust, Matthew pressed the automatic unlock and the man slid onto the tan leather seat, his stench powerful enough to bring down a bear.
“This is the one and only time I’m going to do this,” Matthew said without a greeting. “So if you’re planning any kind of ongoing blackmail, you can forget it now.”
Ray Marx gave him a two-fingered salute as he tugged on the handle and slammed the door, closing them inside. His lips curled in a smug sneer that left Matthew fighting for control. “Really nice of you to meet me. Got a cigarette?”
Without bothering to respond to the ridiculous question, Matthew pulled an envelope from the pocket on the driver’s side door.
Silently, and for effect, he fingered the bulging manila envelope. Ray’s eyes followed every trail of his thumb in anticipation. His foot tapped in a nervous beat to no discernible rhythm. Anticipation of what? Drugs? More than likely. But Matthew couldn’t worry about that right now. Not when his child’s safety was at stake.
“I see eight years in prison didn’t do you much good. How long did it take to find a fix? An hour?”
“What are you, my parole officer?” Ray reached for the envelope, but Matthew snatched it back.
“We’re