by Debby Giusti
“How’s the embankment holding up?” Matt asked.
“Water’s high, but the northern wall’s still solid. Southern side’s a piece a—”
Matt raised a reproachful eyebrow at his outspoken assistant.
“Washed out with the storm is what I was going to say,” Jason hastily added.
Matt glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have an 8:00 a.m. class?”
“I can skip.”
“Not today, Jas. I told you when I hired you, part-time until you get your degree. You’ve been on the clock for more than fifteen hours. Better head over to the mainland and clean up. I wouldn’t want your professor complaining you smelled up his classroom.”
Grinning, Jason started to walk toward his pickup. “Heard you had a lady friend in the office last night,” he called over his shoulder.
“Eunice talks too much. A houseguest of Ms. O’Connor’s had a little problem with the security alarm.”
“Right.” The kid exaggerated a nod.
“Jason, go home. Clean up. Get to class.”
The young guard wiped the smirk from his face but his eyes twinkled with mischief. He raised his right hand to his forehead in a salute. “Yes, sir.” Dutifully, he climbed into his pickup and headed toward the mainland.
Matt watched the truck disappear from sight. The kid had the makings of a good cop, just so long as his enthusiasm didn’t get the best of him.
Keep him safe, Lord.
The first hint of dawn glowed on the horizon. Overhead, a few stars twinkled, like fireflies on a hot, summer night.
Father, only You know what today will hold. Help me do my job to the best of my ability. Aid me in every endeavor. And forgive me my transgressions.
Lowering his eyes, he stepped toward his truck.
Fair skies and sunshine, the weather reporter had said. A perfect day, except for all that had happened in the last few hours—a woman and child arrived in Sanctuary with only the clothes on their backs and a storm nearly wiped out the island’s only connection with the mainland.
Traveling without luggage screamed of running from something. Ms. O’Connor had vouched for her houseguests, yet instinct told Matt that Lydia Sloan’s story didn’t add up one hundred percent. She was someone to be watched.
Not that he had time to play private investigator. He had reports to file and damage from the storm to assess. He climbed into his truck, pulled onto the pavement and turned left at the next intersection.
So why was he heading north on Cove Road?
Because he couldn’t get the woman’s vulnerable look out of his head.
And the boy? A couple of years younger but Tyler reminded him of Enrico.
Matt pushed the memory aside and focused on the road ahead. At the turnoff to Katherine’s house, Matt lowered his headlights, shoved the gear into neutral and coasted into the driveway.
Lydia’s SUV sat near the house exactly where it had been parked earlier. Light filtered through the curtains.
Either the woman didn’t like the dark or she was having trouble sleeping.
What’s your secret, lady?
Matt stared at the house for a long time, then shifted into reverse and backed onto the main road.
Doubtful she’d be going anywhere soon, especially with a tired little boy in tow. He’d let her rest a few hours, but he’d be back. One way or another, he’d find out what had brought her to Sanctuary.
What did he want?
Lydia peered around the curtain and watched the security chief’s pickup disappear.
Tyler lay sleeping in the guest bedroom, but she was too wired to do anything but pace. She had checked the doors and windows more times than she could count to ensure they were locked, and although her body needed rest, her mind kept thinking back on all that had happened over the last seven months—the fire, her husband’s death, the attempt to kidnap Tyler. So much had occurred in such a short period of time. None of it good.
She had hoped Sanctuary would offer just that. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe her eyes had played tricks on her, but the man in the photo could have been Sonny’s twin. If only she could talk to the photographer. Maybe he’d remember when he’d taken the picture. Hopefully he’d be easier to deal with than the security chief who took his job way too seriously.
Lydia rubbed her neck. She wanted a chance to catch her breath and get their lives back to normal. When Katherine came home, Lydia would ask her to watch Tyler while she returned to Atlanta and continued the search for her husband’s killer.
Lydia glanced at the clock.
Six in the morning.
The Men’s Club in Atlanta closed at three. More precisely, it was supposed to close. Since Sonny’s death, she’d learned the back room activities lasted until dawn and catered to high rollers with money to pay for extra services and live entertainment.
Ruby Pace worked the front lounge. By now, she’d be home in the midtown condo she shared with her mother and handicapped sister, enjoying some quiet time to herself before the other two women rose at seven.
Lydia picked up the phone and tapped in the Atlanta number.
“Yeah.” Ruby answered on the third ring, a tired and angry edge to her voice.
“It’s Lydia. Can you talk?”
The voice softened. “Mama and Charise are sleeping. Where you been? I called your apartment.”
“We left Atlanta.”
“Why?”
“Someone tried to grab Tyler.”
Ruby cursed. “They’re trying to get to you ’cause of that evidence that Sonny hid. The Club hired him to run their Web site. They never expected him to poke his nose around where it didn’t belong.”
“The police still think I started the fire.”
“You tell ’em anything?” Ruby asked.
“Just that there’s more going on at the Men’s Club than meets the eye.”
“They didn’t buy it, did they?”
“Didn’t want to buy it is more like it,” Lydia said.
“Just like Sonny told you. Enough money going under the table, no one has a problem with the police. Real convenient for the cops to look the other way when their bank accounts are gettin’ fat.”
“What about those back room files?”
“Girl, they’re locked up tight. Give me a little time. The doorman I told you about says he wants out, just like me.” She paused. “I’m trying to work a deal. He watches the door while I check the files.”
“Call me.”
“No way, honey. I don’t even want to know where you be hiding. That way Ruby can’t tell the man what she don’t know.”
Lydia shivered, thinking of what would happen to Ruby if anyone at the club discovered she was talking to Sonny’s wife.
“I’m sorry I got you involved,” Lydia said.
“My choice. That night you came snooping around the club, I knew you was out of your element. You got nerve, girlfriend. I like that. Plus, I want a new start. I’ve had enough of this life. Want to move my Mama and Charise away from the city. Get us a little country place.”
“Be careful.”
“You know I will. By the way, that reporter was back.”
“Trish Delaney? What’d she want?”
“Information, just like you. Only she got the cold shoulder and an escort to the door. Maybe you should call her.”
“I…I’m not sure, Ruby.”
“Whatever. Talk to me in about a week. I might have something by then.”
Lydia hung up. Hopefully, Ruby would find evidence to prove the club was a front for something illegal. If she was lucky, information about Sonny’s death might surface, as well.
Whatever Sonny had been involved in now threatened Tyler’s life. Much as it terrified her to hunt Sonny’s killer, she’d do anything to protect her child.
Lydia pulled down the covers and crawled into bed. Just so Ruby didn’t get hurt in the process.
Reaching to turn off the bedside lamp, Lydia noticed a small cross-stitch
sampler perched near the clock.
Jesus, I Trust In You, was stitched in tiny Xs across the fabric.
“If only I could,” she mumbled as she turned off the light.
The insistent ring of the doorbell woke her. She opened her eyes and squinted against the daylight streaming through the curtains. Her head felt packed with cotton wool. Too little sleep, most of it plagued with dreams of raging infernos, had taken its toll.
Glancing at the bedside clock, she bolted to a sitting position. Half-past eleven. She had slept far longer than she wanted. Not that she felt rested. Anything but.
She yanked the closet door open and pulled out the blouse and skirt she’d worn the night before. Slipping them on, she made her way barefoot toward the living room.
Tyler stood in the doorway of the guest room, dressed in the G.I. Joe briefs and T-shirt he’d slept in. He rubbed his eyes.
“Who’s at the door?” he asked between yawns.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to find out.” She strode past him, working to control the fear prickling her spine. Surely, no one from Atlanta could have tracked them down in the short time they’d been on the island. Maybe that nosy security chief wanted more information.
Stretching on tiptoe, she peered through the door’s tiny peephole. The distorted face of a high schooler, probably sixteen or seventeen, filled the glass circle.
Mustering her sternest voice, she demanded, “Who’s there?”
“James, from The Country Store. Ms. O’Connor called in a delivery long-distance. Said I was to get everything here by eleven. The storm washed out one of the roads. Had to take a detour.”
Lydia unlocked the door, inched it open and glanced first at The Country Store scripted on the truck’s side panel and then at the same logo stitched on the youth’s polo. She let out a sigh of relief and opened the door wider.
The kid nodded toward the large cardboard box in his arms. “Ms. O’Connor said to send over everything a boy age six might need. I’ve got a box filled with ladies’ things and another one with odds and ends in the truck.”
He dropped the first box inside the door and scrambled down the steps to the delivery truck, where he grabbed two more boxes and deposited them one on top of the other in the entryway.
Lydia reached for her purse. “How much do I owe you?”
“Ms. O’Connor took care of it, ma’am.” He climbed into his truck and waved as he backed out of the driveway.
Before Lydia could close the door, a second van pulled up to the house and an equally enthusiastic teen bounded toward the porch, carrying two large grocery bags.
“Harry’s Market. More groceries in the truck.”
Resigning herself to accepting Katherine’s generosity, Lydia pointed the boy in the direction of the kitchen and watched as he hauled the bags into the house.
“Be happy to unpack the groceries, if you need help.” He placed the last sack on the counter.
“Thanks, that’s not necessary.” Lydia dug in her handbag and pulled out a few dollar bills.
The teen walked back to where she stood by the door and accepted the tip.
Shoving the money into his pocket, he said, “You’re from Fulton County. Atlanta, right?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“Saw license plates just like yours this morning.” The kid shook his head. “Stupid Mercedes almost ran me off the road.”
The hair rose on the back of Lydia’s neck. “What…what color?”
“Black.”
She stiffened. Not the car from Atlanta?
“Probably tourists in a hurry to get to the beach,” a voice said behind her. Lydia turned to see Matt Lawson leaning against the front porch railing.
“Morning, ma’am.” He pulled the baseball cap with the Sanctuary logo off his head and wrapped a tight smile around his broad face. From the looks of his rumpled khaki pants and navy polo, he, too, appeared to be wearing the same clothes he’d worn the night before.
Lydia noticed the creases at the corner of his eyes, more pronounced in the light of day. Although clean shaven, his face was drawn with fatigue. No doubt the chief had not enjoyed the luxury of even a few hours of sleep.
“Hey, Mr. Lawson.” The delivery boy acknowledged Matt with a nod. “Heard there was another break-in last night on the mainland.”
“I’m sure Sheriff Turner’s on top of it, Blake.”
“Harry said no one local would do such a thing.” The teen turned toward the delivery van. “‘Probably dock riffraff, pure and simple.’ That’s what Harry said.”
“We’ll let the sheriff handle the case, Blake.”
The kid opened the driver’s door, then glanced back, a chagrined expression on his face. “Yes, sir.”
“He’ll let us know when he uncovers something. ’Till then, you keep your mind on your business and not the sheriff’s. Hear me? And I want to see you at church tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.” Blake climbed into the van, started the engine and pulled out of the drive.
Lydia stood in the open doorway and glanced down at her bare feet. Her cheeks warmed with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. Once again, the chief had caught her by surprise.
Why did that bother her?
Probably because she was out of her element and scared to death every time she thought of how close her son had come to being kidnapped—by someone in a black Mercedes. The delivery boy had seen the same make of car, not the same car.
Get a grip, Lydia.
She looked up to find the security chief staring at her.
“More questions, Mr. Lawson?” Her voice carried more than a hint of disapproval. “I suppose Katherine called you this morning. She probably told you to make amends.”
He shook his head. “Haven’t heard from Ms. O’Connor today. And I was doing my job last night.”
“Of course you were.” She let out a deep breath, fatigue skewing her good judgment. She was taking out her frustration with Atlanta’s dirty cops on a guy who managed security systems and island gate guards.
“Look, I’m sorry. It was a long night, and I doubt either of us got much sleep. Why don’t we start over?” She stuck out her right hand. “Lydia Sloan.”
He eyed her for a moment before he took her hand and held it as if not quite sure how to follow her lead. “Pleased to meet you, Lydia,” he finally said.
Their hands remained clasped for several seconds. His eyes never wavered from hers.
Self-conscious, Lydia withdrew from his grasp.
“Seems Katherine was afraid we’d either go naked or starve to death.” She pointed to the bags and boxes the teens had delivered. “Bet I can find some coffee in one of these sacks, if you’d like a cup.”
“Mind if I take a rain check? I’ve got a couple more things to do before I call it a day.”
Lydia tilted her head. “No rest for the wicked, eh?”
The chief shifted his gaze as Tyler stepped from the hallway and ran to her side.
“Hey there, buddy. How’s it going?”
The boy hugged Lydia’s leg and shrugged.
Matt smiled, then looked back at Lydia. “There’s a community beach not far from here. Safest place to swim on the island.”
He pointed toward the large picture windows. Lydia glanced through the glass at the jagged boulders and the ocean beyond.
“Don’t know if Ms. O’Connor told you. The water’s pretty treacherous in this stretch of the beach. Rocks look peaceful enough, but they’re riddled with caves. Easy to get trapped. Tide comes in and they flood out. Rip currents are always a problem.”
He glanced at Tyler. “You hear that? Don’t play on the boulders. And no swimming unless you’re at the community beach.”
Lydia watched her son’s eyes widen. She didn’t want anything else to frighten him. “We don’t swim, Mr. Lawson. It won’t be a problem.”
Matt pursed his lips, then looked back at Lydia. “The Community Church is holding a sand castle
contest for the kids at eleven tomorrow. After the morning service. Why don’t you meet me at nine for worship. We can go to the contest afterward.” He winked at Tyler. “Bet you’re strong enough to build a great moat.”
Tyler nodded. “I am strong.” He drew in a deep breath and stuck out his chest as if trying to prove he was up to the task.
“Bring a bathing suit, and I’ll give you a few swimming lessons after the contest’s over,” Matt continued.
Was the man hard of hearing? “Mr. Lawson—”
“It’s Matt.” His dark eyes flashed a no-nonsense look that she was sure could intimidate the most hardened of criminals. Well, it wasn’t going to have an effect on her.
Tyler tugged on her arm. “Can we go, Mom?”
“Not to church, honey.”
“You could meet me at the park,” Matt suggested.
That was the last thing she wanted to do, but she didn’t want to disappoint Tyler. A little fun in the sun sounded like what her son needed. What could it hurt?
Plus, she might run into the photographer. She had a few questions that needed to be answered. Had her husband been on the island? And if so, what had brought him to Sanctuary?
Lydia nodded to the chief. “I guess we’ll see you about eleven.”
Tyler would have a good time, but she’d keep her guard up when it came to Matt Lawson. Law enforcement wasn’t to be trusted. That included the security chief.
“Hey, Chief Lawson,” the kids called from the picnic area as Matt pulled his pickup into the parking lot the following day.
Six boys, five girls, with probably more petty cash at their disposal than Matt had in his savings. Good kids who could use a little more attention from their jet-set parents. That’s why he worked with the church to organize activities. He knew firsthand the change a good role model could make in a kid’s life. Not that his family was rich. Far from it. But he’d been on a fast track to nowhere until his church youth director showed Matt the positive impact of putting Christian love into action.
Now, it was payback time.
Plus, he liked kids.
“Savannah and Mark, you team up with Josh. Spread out to the left on the sand.” He outlined the spots two more groups would use before he pulled aside the boys he wanted to match up with Tyler.