by Betina Krahn
In the kitchen, Finn set himself up at the wide, flat-screen monitor and found several pictures of Roger Bampton on the island’s volleyball league Web site. Tyler recognized the one Finn had downloaded to his phone.
Smart, decisive, technologically savvy and could think like a criminal? The guy was destined for law enforcement.
“Have you ever seen this man, Mrs. Jackson?” Finn asked with a facial blowup of Roger Bampton on the screen.
“Oh, sure, I know him. He’s the president of the cleaning service I use.”
Tyler exchanged a glance with Finn. “He’s been in your house?” he asked, keeping his voice steady, giving away none of the excitement of discovery he felt.
Mrs. Jackson nodded. “Sure. He came by to get a new key. The old one had been destroyed in a fire.”
“Fire?” Tyler prompted.
“The offices at the cleaning company.” She shook her head. “A shame. There was a lightning storm. So I gave him a new key, and the girls came by the next day like always.”
Tyler just bet they had.
Finn pointed at the screen. “Mrs. Jackson, this is Rog—”
“Thank you,” Tyler interrupted. “We’ll get back to you when we have further information about your tea set.”
Mrs. Jackson pursed her lips. “The sheriff’s back now, so I have no doubt my property will be returned, safe and sound.”
“You called him away from his vacation, didn’t you, ma’am?” Tyler asked, though he already knew the answer.
Her eyes turned sly. “Why would you want to go to Bermuda when you have this beautiful island right here?”
“I can’t imagine,” Tyler returned, though not without some irony. The sheriff would welcome his retirement in many ways, not the least of which was scowling at Tyler right at this moment. “I hope I can count on your vote Tuesday,” he said as they headed toward the door.
Mrs. Jackson raised her wrinkled chin. “Lester Cradock promised he’d get rid of the alien invaders with his bull-whip.”
So Tyler wasn’t getting everybody’s support. He had much bigger concerns, so he shrugged off the criticism and walked with Finn back to the patrol car.
“Why’d you stop me from telling Mrs. Jackson about Roger’s guilt?” Finn asked as they backed out of the driveway.
“Cops don’t determine guilt.”
“But Roger bribed my buddy, he got a key to Mrs. Jackson’s house. He took everything. He’s the thief.”
“Sure he is. But Mrs. Jackson will be called as a witness at some point.” Though Tyler anticipated he could avoid a full trial with the information they’d gathered. Frankly, he didn’t see Roger Bampton standing up to a full-on police interrogation. “We have her statement, which can be added to the evidence, but we don’t tell her what we’re thinking or where we’re going. Let the prosecutor build the case.”
“But she pretty much guaranteed Roger’s guilt.”
Tyler shifted his gaze to Finn. “And if you were me, would you want her to know that? The woman who convinced big, bad Buddy Caldwell to cut his vacation short?”
Finn’s eyes widened. “Oh, well, no. I guess not.”
“Besides,” Tyler added as he pulled into the lot at city hall, “the police gather and present evidence. The court and jury determine guilt. Remember that when you become a cop.”
“Who said I wanted to be a cop?” Finn asked, a little too casually to be believed.
“Nobody.” Tyler swung out of the patrol car and headed up the stone steps to the station. “By the way, if you decide to give up life as a church errand guy, I’d be proud to have you as a deputy.”
Finn halted. His face broke into the first genuine smile Tyler had seen on him since he’d met the young man.
“Thanks,” Finn replied. “You know you haven’t won yet, though, right?”
Tyler’s thoughts flicked briefly to Andrea, of the dreams he had with her. Of the way she’d stood by him through everything, then turned away from the best part of him—his heart. He didn’t know how to convince her to believe in them when she was running from the promise of the future, settling for the past.
But he knew he couldn’t let her go to London without trying. And, if she did leave, he wanted to remind her there was something wonderful to come home to. Something that could overcome the past. Something romantic and true. Something to let her know that he was a man who always got what he wanted, and if he was a hero, it was because of her.
“Don’t worry,” he said to Finn. “I’ll win.”
“YOU CAN COME IN,” Andrea said to her best friend, “but I’m packing.”
Turning from the door, Andrea headed across the foyer and up the stairs, knowing Sloan would follow.
“You’re actually running away?”
“I’m going on a trip. To London. For work. In two days.”
“How decisive of you.”
“This assignment’s been planned for months.”
“And you’re telling me if Finn’s guilt on this silver case was in question, if there was even the slightest chance he might be arrested, you’d still be going?”
At the top of the steps, Andrea turned and faced her friend, wishing she could face herself so easily. She wouldn’t be going anywhere if the case wasn’t closed, and Sloan knew that as well as she did.
The silver stealer case, however, was indeed closed.
Confronted with the evidence Tyler, Finn and the rest of the task force had gathered, Roger Bampton had confessed and handed over the stolen items—kept in a box beneath his bed—to the police. He’d been arraigned and officially charged the day before. Though a trial date had been set, a rumor was already floating around that a deal would be made in which Roger might avoid jail time.
Supposedly, Sister Mary Katherine was encouraging probation, though she did suggest his scrubbing of the restrooms in city hall—with a toothbrush—might be an excellent penance and form of community service.
Andrea thought he also needed some serious counseling, since the master thief really had stolen two priceless island treasures in order to throw the police off about who’d want the volleyball trophy—namely, him. And, oddly enough, her theory about the significant timing of the thefts, coinciding with the election, turned out to be true in a way, since Roger had planned his crimes months in advance, but saved the actual execution until the sheriff left on vacation.
Sheepishly, he’d admitted he hadn’t been prepared for Tyler’s tenacity and quick action.
Personally, Andrea wanted to kick Roger’s butt off the island to some dark, dank prison where some big, bald, tattooed and scary guy was liable to adopt him as his little woman, but maybe that was simply bitterness over him putting her, her brother and her lover through hell for the last two weeks.
Former lover, her conscience reminded her.
“I’m going to London,” she said finally to Sloan, heading into her bedroom.
“Packing on election day. How…ridiculous. ’Cause, gee, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but today was important for a close friend of yours. Oh, no. Wait. He’s more than a friend. He’s the love of your freakin’ life.”
Since the last was delivered in a determined, annoyed and exasperated tone, Andrea couldn’t help but wince, though she didn’t pause from pulling a sweater set from her closet.
Maybe she was miserable without him, maybe she wondered—though only every other ten seconds—whether she’d made a huge mistake in turning away from him.
Was she protecting her heart at the risk of losing a chance at complete happiness?
“I voted,” Andrea said, tucking the sweater in her suitcase, which was laid open on her bed. She tapped the flag sticker on her chest. “What more am I supposed to do?”
Sloan crossed her arms. “How about holding his hand as the results come in?”
“You’re honestly concerned Lester Cradock is going to make a last-minute surge and win the election?”
Sloan wasn’t deterred. “Then you could be
at my house, helping me decorate for the victory party. We have streamers, balloons and confetti, plus tons of food. There’s a stage, a band and—”
“I’m not coming.” Andrea started toward her closet.
Sloan stepped in front of her. “You need to be there. He needs your support.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
Her heart jumped, like a betrayer of her body. “You talked to him?”
“A little. He wouldn’t say much.” Sloan tapped her stiletto-clad foot. “Clearly, he was upset.”
“What did he say?”
“That you’d argued and basically broken up. Is that what happened?”
“Basically.”
Sloan snorted. “You dumped him.”
“Yes,” Andrea admitted, her stomach clenching.
“Have you lost your mind? You can’t tell me you’re not crazy about him.”
Andrea yanked a jacket from a hanger. “Of course I’m crazy about him! I’m too crazy about him.”
Sloan was silent.
Andrea tucked several more things in her suitcase. If she kept moving, if she had several thousand miles between her and Tyler, she was sure she’d come to her senses and remember that he was only going to break her heart again. Why should she hang around for that torture?
Sloan darted between Andrea and the suitcase. “That is absolutely the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You love him. You’ve loved him for years.”
“I don’t. I won’t.”
“And the best part,” Sloan added as if she hadn’t heard Andrea’s protest, “is that he loves you, too.”
But did he? They’d had a fantasy affair. How could any permanence come from that?
Exhausted from worry and lack of sleep. Andrea flopped on the bed. Was she being smart or stubborn? “So he said.”
Sloan held up her hand. “Hold on. He told you he loved you? When did this happen?”
“Saturday.”
“Okay,” Sloan said, striding from one end of the room to the other, then back again. Finally, she sat next to Andrea, holding her hand gently between her own. “Okay,” she repeated, her voice quiet, soothing. “Here’s how it’s going to be…. You’re going to fix your hair, put on lip gloss and perfume, then you’re going to get dressed in something festive, sparkly and hot. You’re coming with me to my house. There, you’ll greet Tyler at the door with a celebratory glass of champagne, an apology for being such an idiot and a kiss designed to ignite the new silver star on his chest.”
“Why would I do that?”
“’Cause if you don’t, I’m going to kick your stupid butt from here to London.” Sloan smiled fiercely. “No plane ticket or baggage check-in required.”
Jumping to her feet, Andrea flung her hands in the air. “It’s not real. We’ve been having sex for two weeks. We’ve been living a fantasy. My life is supposed to change. What, I’m suddenly worthy of the hero of the island based on a costume and a few hot nights?”
“Yes.”
Sloan’s resolute answer made Andrea’s heart contract. She’d wanted him for so long, but on some level, she’d never believed he could be hers. In her teenage fantasies, he’d been the ideal, the pinnacle, something the math nerd could never hope to claim.
But she was an adult now. Did she really want to live in the past forever?
“He should be with somebody else,” she said, though her argument seemed weak even in her own mind.
“Who? Somebody smarter? Prettier? More loyal? Someone who loves him more?”
No one could love him more.
The truth pounded through her as solid and real as the waves pounded the shore outside her window.
With that singular truth glaring at her, she also realized she hadn’t loved him back in high school. She’d been obsessed with him. But her obsession hadn’t been real. It had been the fantasy. The man she’d spent the last few weeks with was the real Tyler, the one who had hopes and fears, strengths and weaknesses.
He hadn’t done anything but be himself, and she’d held herself back all by herself. He’d trusted her with his innermost thoughts and secrets. He’d trusted her brother when he had no reason to except on her word. He’d been demonstrating how important she was every moment since he’d handed her champagne at the costume ball.
But instead of believing in him when it mattered the most, she’d rejected him. Unconscious revenge for him rejecting her years ago? If so, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
A tough admission for the woman who thought she knew so much.
“He really loves me, doesn’t he?” she said, rising.
Smiling, Sloan squeezed her hand. “He does.”
“Then I guess I’ve got a party to go to.”
15
TYLER STOOD NEAR THE STAGE, which had been set up beside the patriotically decorated gazebo in the backyard of Batherton Mansion.
Though he was grateful to Aiden and Sloan for providing the venue, and the citizens of Palmer’s Island for electing him and helping him secure his family legacy, he didn’t see the one face he longed to among the celebratory crowd.
She wasn’t coming.
Sloan had left earlier to find Andrea and make sure she came to the victory party, but obviously she hadn’t been successful.
He’d wanted to share this with her, the first introduction of him as sheriff to his hometown. She was the only one who’d truly understand how much the victory meant to him and how seriously he took the welfare and future of his fellow islanders to heart.
Hundreds of people milled around the yard and through the house, arguing about other elections around the state, agreeing about the wildlife preservation decree that had been passed.
He watched them huddle in groups, enjoying the food and drinks his generous friends had provided. They passed by in patriotic clothes, or—at least in the case of Jerry Mescle—stood to the side and watched the proceedings with a gimlet eye. The press, it seemed, would always be there, fair or foul, peace or controversy.
Even Lester was having a good time. He’d somehow connected with the historical film society and was showing off his trademark bullwhip.
Tyler was proud, hopeful and…miserable. How was he supposed to make his dreams come true like this?
As his parents approached, he straightened his shoulders. “We’re so proud of you,” his mother said, kissing his cheek.
“Thanks, Mama.” He hugged her, then leaned into his father as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders. “Where’s Grandad?”
His father grinned. “He got waylaid by Lester. Something about physics and bullwhips. We slipped away.”
Tyler found the energy to smile. “Smart move.”
“You’ll make a great sheriff, son,” his father said. “Maybe even better than Dad.”
As Andrea suggested, Tyler had told his parents and grandfather about the failed mission and the true reason for his retirement. They’d been sympathetic and understanding, as he should have expected them to be all along.
Tyler met his father’s gaze. “Thanks. Though I guess you know your support hasn’t stopped Grandad or Sheriff Caldwell from giving me advice every fifteen seconds.”
His mother patted his cheek. “They’ll let you do things your own way.” Her eyes, identical to his, turned fierce. “Or they’ll hear from me.”
His family would stand by him, no matter what. He only wished Andrea could do the same. Where was she?
As his parents drifted back to the party and more islanders approached to congratulate him, he could listen with only half his attention. The rest was focusing on Plan B. If Andrea wasn’t coming to him, he’d have to find a way to escape his own victory celebration and find her. He had no idea how he was going to convince her his love was real and forever, but there had to be a way.
Was the ring box in his jacket pocket too bold and too fast, or just right?
“Don’t worry, Sheriff,” Aidan said as he approached, pressing a glass of whiskey
in his hands. “Sloan will come through.”
“I’m not so sure,” Tyler returned. He gratefully sipped the smoky whiskey. “Not that I don’t have faith in Sloan. I just can’t seem to reach Andrea.”
“You guys have moved pretty fast.”
“And that’s bad?”
“No, it’s just that Andrea’s not much for impulsiveness.”
With the times they’d acted out her fantasies fresh in his mind, Tyler could argue that point but decided not to. He knew what Aidan was trying to say—she wasn’t naturally impulsive. So she was pretending with him?
That didn’t bode well for his plans.
“She’s got some crazy idea that my feelings for her won’t last,” Tyler admitted. “She doesn’t take me seriously.”
Aidan’s knowing gaze cut to his. “Where did she get that idea?”
“Probably because I’ve never been serious about a woman before. But things have changed. I’ve changed.”
“That happens when the right woman storms into your life.”
Tyler glanced at his friend. “Did Sloan storm?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“But then she fell into your arms and that was that.”
Aidan, who nobody could accuse of being the jovial type, laughed. “Not exactly.” He clapped Tyler on the shoulder. “Don’t give up. You’ll—”
“Excellent whiskey, Aidan,” Carr Hamilton said, joining them and raising his glass. “I may have to switch brands.”
Tyler stiffened. Though Andrea had assured him there was nothing personal between her and the suave attorney, he couldn’t seem to get past his resentment of the guy.
“Congratulations, Sheriff,” Hamilton said, toasting him.
Tyler nodded. “Thanks.”
“I hear our girl is going to London. I guess you’ll now be free to check out all the other female delights the island has to offer.”
Tyler clenched his jaw. “By our girl, you certainly can’t mean Andrea. She belongs to me.”
To his surprise, Hamilton smiled. “Finn’s right. You do love her.”
“You bet I do, and if you come within ten feet of—”