The Christmas Rescue

by Laura Scott

  And he’d left Kayla and Ellen alone.

  He turned and jogged back through the woods, retracing his steps to the bed-and-breakfast. The guy had to be looking for something. But what? Something Kayla had or something someone else had planted? Someone like Schroeder, who’d been there just ten days ago?

  Rafe quickened his pace, suddenly anxious to get back.

  Whatever the intruder was looking for, he and Kayla needed to find it.

  FOUR

  Footsteps on the deck had woken Kayla from her light doze. She jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on her robe. She took a moment to peek in on Ellen, who was sleeping, before hurrying out to the great room. Through the large picture window, she saw Rafe disappear into the woods.

  Had someone tried to break in? Rafe was obviously chasing someone. The intruder? Fear gripped her by the throat as she stood, uncertain as to what she should do. Call the police? Or just set the security system and wait for Rafe to return?

  And what if Rafe didn’t return?

  The last thought spurred her into action. She grabbed her phone and quickly dialed 911. Thank heavens she’d let Brianna stay at a friend’s house for the night.

  After notifying the police, she paced the length of the great room, feeling helpless and somewhat vulnerable. It was late, four o’clock in the morning, almost the exact same time frame as the last time the burglar had tried to break in. A coincidence? Or was the intruder the same man? She wrapped her arms across her chest, shivering in the cold.

  Rafe burst into the clearing just seconds before sirens split the air.

  She ran over to open the door for him. “What happened?”

  “I lost him.”

  She caught a glimpse of his face in the porch light. “You’re bleeding!”

  “I’m fine.” He swiped his arm across his forehead. The blood smeared over his brow. “Scratched by tree branches, that’s all.”

  She couldn’t be too disappointed that Rafe had lost the intruder. Not when Rafe had made it back safe and sound. As the sirens grew louder, she confessed, “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, but I did call the police.”

  He shrugged and nodded. “It’s fine. We should report the attempted break-in, although I don’t think it’s going to help. This isn’t a simple burglary attempt.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.” Rafe glanced outside and she turned to follow his gaze, noting that the sheriff’s deputy was already pulling up to the house. “I’ll explain more later.”

  She went over to greet the deputy, a different one than the guy who’d responded to the break-in two nights ago. She tried to smile. “Good morning, Deputy.”

  The sheriff’s deputy did not return her smile. He looked a little annoyed, as if he had better things to do than to respond to her calls. “You reported another break-in attempt?”

  “Yes, I did.” Kayla glanced at Rafe for help.

  Rafe stepped forward, introducing himself and using his coast guard ranking. “I’m staying up in one of the guest rooms, and saw a man trying to break in. I took off after him, but I lost him. There was a car on the road waiting for him. I didn’t get the license plate number.”

  “You took off after him?” The deputy’s scowl deepened. “You realize he could have been armed and we could right now be searching the woods for your body, don’t you? You’re a little outside your jurisdiction. Next time, leave the police work to the experts.”

  Kayla frowned, about to jump to Rafe’s defense, but he put a hand on her arm, squeezing it in warning to keep silent.

  “You’re right, sir,” he said solemnly. “I wasn’t thinking. Next time, I’ll call you first.”

  The deputy glared at Rafe, as if sensing he was being humored but then he turned toward the staircase. “All right. Show me which room you were staying in.”

  Kayla remained downstairs as Rafe led the deputy up to the scene of the break-in. Anxious for something to do, she headed into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

  The sheriff’s deputy didn’t stay long. After he left, she handed Rafe a warm moist towel for his cuts. “I guess you were right. There isn’t much they can do to help, is there?”

  Rafe took the towel and plastered it over his face, wiping off the blood. “No, I’m afraid not. Kayla, the guy who tried to break in tonight wasn’t your average burglar. He wore night-vision goggles and had a flashlight strapped to his belt. He came here to find something specific.”

  She gapped at him. “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure. But I have to tell you, I believe these break-ins are related to Schroeder’s death.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered, taking the bloodstained towel from Rafe’s hands. “Why would burglar attempts be related to Bill’s death?”

  Rafe blew out a breath and glanced toward the kitchen. “Is that coffee I smell? Because I could sure use a cup.”

  “Yes, of course.” Kayla turned and led the way into the kitchen, pausing long enough to toss the stained dish towel into the laundry room, before heading over to the coffeemaker.

  When the carafe was full, she poured two large, steaming mugs and carried them to the oak picnic table she used for family gatherings.

  Rafe took a seat across from her, wrapping his fingers around the mug. She noticed his hands were scratched, too, although not as badly as his face. “I can’t explain everything, Kayla, but I will tell you what I can.”

  She lifted her coffee mug, eyeing him over the rim. “Okay. I can accept that.”

  Rafe took a bracing sip of his coffee. “We’ve been watching Bill Schroeder for the past few months. He disappeared about a week ago, and we feared something bad had happened to him. Which is why I wasn’t too surprised when he turned up dead.”

  She stared at him, her own coffee forgotten. “Why was the coast guard watching Bill?”

  Rafe’s mouth thinned. “Because Bill Schroeder happens to be a key suspect in our investigation.”

  “Suspect?” She paled. “In what kind of investigation?”

  He seemed to pause, as if deciding how much to tell her. “Criminals are being smuggled out of the area, specifically from Chicago, Milwaukee and Detroit, up into Canada. Somewhere along the way, they’re also being provided new identities.” He took a deep breath and met her gaze head on. “We have reason to believe Schroeder’s charter fishing business was really a front for this underground criminal transportation service.”

  Rafe braced himself, expecting her to be outraged, but Kayla only stared at him without saying a word. But then the coffee mug began to slip from her fingers, spilling hot liquid over her slender, pale hands. She caught the mug before it fell, but she didn’t utter a sound, as if she didn’t notice the burning. He jumped up and grabbed a dish towel for her hands.

  “How long?” she asked in a whisper. “How long has the charter fishing business been a front for criminal activity?”

  The red splotches covering the silky skin of her slender hands worried him. “Come here, we need to run your hands under cold water.” He practically dragged her over to the sink, thrusting her hands beneath the cold stream. “We don’t know how long. We’ve been watching Schroeder for the past four months.”

  She tolerated the cold water for several long minutes before finally pulling away. “Four months? So Jeremy couldn’t have been involved. He’s been dead for two years.”

  He wanted to agree, if only to give her some peace of mind, but he couldn’t. Because he didn’t know for sure that her husband had been innocent. Or if his death had really been the result of an accident. They’d found Jeremy’s boat adrift in the middle of the lake after the storm, and within two days, Jeremy’s body had washed up along the shore. Jeremy had drowned. No one really knew for sure what had happened. He took a dry towel out and wrapped it gently around her hands. “We don’t know,” he repeated.

  A spark of anger flashed in her brilliant green eyes. “I know, Rafe. Jeremy would never be involved in anything illegal. Never.”


  “I’m sure you’re right, Kayla, although it is possible Jeremy didn’t know what was going on, either. But we’ll never know now, anyway.” He looked at her hands, glad to see the redness was fading. “The important thing at this point is to figure out who’s breaking into your house and why.”

  Her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world was bearing down on them. He longed to pull her close, to reassure her that everything would be fine. But he didn’t dare cross the tentative friendship they’d built.

  “You’re right,” she murmured. “I wish I knew what they were looking for.”

  “I’d like your permission to look around,” he said slowly, gazing down at her bowed head. “I’d like to go through Jeremy’s things.”

  Her head snapped up. “Why? Jeremy was not involved in this!”

  He took a step back, raising his hand to calm her down. “Please, Kayla, I’m not saying he was involved. But he might have inadvertently stumbled upon the truth. All I’m asking is for you to allow me to poke around.”

  “No.” Kayla’s stark refusal caught him off guard. “I’m sorry, Rafe, but I refuse to have Jeremy’s good name and reputation tainted by association. If you want to prove Bill Schroeder’s guilt, fine. But don’t ruin Jeremy’s name in order to do it.”

  He could only gape at her as she spun on her heel and left, shutting the door leading to her room with an irrefutable click.

  Kayla couldn’t sleep. There was no point to even try. She curled up in her reading chair, wrapped in one of her homemade quilts, trying to grapple with what Rafe had told her.

  Bill Schroeder had used his charter fishing boats to smuggle criminals out of the country. And even more frightening was the realization that Bill had likely been murdered.

  Jeremy hadn’t been involved. No matter what nefarious crimes Bill Schroeder had gotten himself into, she refused to believe her husband had anything remotely to do with it. But she couldn’t help but wonder if Rafe might be right. Was it possible Jeremy had stumbled upon something in those last few weeks before his death? Was someone trying to get inside her house because they want to find something Jeremy had?

  She frowned because that theory didn’t make sense. Why would they wait all this time? Jeremy had been gone for two years. Why bother breaking in now?

  Because Bill Schroeder had been here recently? Maybe. She couldn’t imagine there was any other reason. It wasn’t like her bed-and-breakfast was high-profile.

  Suddenly she straightened in her chair, her heart pounding. What about that interview she’d done for the newspaper? The photograph of her and Jeremy together in front of the charter fishing boat had been clearly visible in the snapshot they’d used for the article. Could someone had seen that picture and assumed there were others? Could they be looking for more photographs?

  She put a hand over her racing heart. She needed to stop letting her imagination run away with her. Rafe’s theories could be wrong. The break-ins might have nothing to do with Schroeder’s death.

  Although as much as she wanted to believe that, she really couldn’t.

  An hour later, she ventured back into the kitchen, beginning to prepare for breakfast. Rafe was a paying guest and he deserved the same treatment as all her other patrons, which meant she needed to bake a batch of her infamous raspberry pastries. She’d wanted to get them finished before Brianna returned from her sleepover.

  Brianna. Her fingers stilled in the mound of dough.

  Grimly, she realized she had no choice but to let Rafe go through Jeremy’s things, whether she liked it or not. She and Brianna wouldn’t be safe, not until they knew what the intruder was looking for.

  She attacked the dough with a vengeance. So she’d let Rafe go through Jeremy’s things, and anything else he wanted to go through as well.

  But not without her. She’d help. That way, she’d know if Rafe found anything that would even remotely incriminate Jeremy.

  She deserved at least that much, didn’t she?

  Rafe’s phone woke him from a sound sleep. “Yeah?” he muttered.

  “DeSilva?” He wasn’t thrilled to hear his partner Evan’s voice on the line. “You need to get down to the point, pronto. Charlie Turkow has returned.”

  “Oh yeah?” Rafe stifled a yawn and forced himself awake. “And how would you know? I thought Luke told you to keep an eye on Karl Yancy?”

  “There was nothing happening there so I headed over to see if Turkow returned. Do you want me to interview him for you?” Evan’s voice was eager.

  “No, I’ll do it.” Rafe tried to mask his irritation. Evan was young and too cocky for his own good. The guy needed to learn how to follow orders.

  It was times like this that he missed his former partner, Ben Morrison. Ben deserved to retire, after serving in the coast guard for thirty years, but Rafe still missed him. Rafe hadn’t been thrilled to be saddled with the young recruit. Evan wanted lots of action and didn’t much care for the tedious parts of the job. “Get back over to keep an eye on Yancy, if he moves and you’re not there to tail him, Sanders will not be happy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Evan hung up and Rafe let out a sigh as he snapped his phone shut.

  He quickly dressed and headed downstairs to the kitchen, his stomach rumbling loud enough to wake the dead. The few hours of sleep he’d caught had been better than nothing, but another cup of Kayla’s coffee would certainly help clear the remaining cobwebs from his brain.

  Ellen and Brianna were seated at the large oak picnic table in the kitchen when he entered the room. He sniffed the air appreciatively. “Something smells wonderful,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Good morning, Rafe. You’re in for a treat, Kayla made her raspberry pastries,” Ellen informed him. “The raspberries are from her garden. She freezes them to use throughout the year.”

  “Hi, Mr. Rafe,” Brianna chimed in.

  “Hello, mi nina,” he said, ruffling her hair as he walked past.

  “Have a seat,” Kayla said, and he was surprised when she flashed him a smile. Had she already forgiven him that easily? He could only hope.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. When she put two pastries on a plate for him, along with a steaming bowl of oatmeal, he was impressed with her cooking abilities all over again. He bent his head and silently thanked God for the food before taking a healthy bite of the raspberry pastry. “Delicious.”

  Kayla blushed a bit and turned back to the stove. He made small talk with Brianna and Ellen as he ate but as soon as he was finished, he stood to leave. “I need to run a few errands, Kayla. Will you please set the security alarm until I get back?”

  She looked startled, but nodded. “Sure. How long will you be gone?”

  If he had his way, he wouldn’t leave at all, but he did have a job to do. His commanding officer expected him to interview Charlie Turkow. Once he did that, he hoped to convince Luke to let him stay here for the next few days. After the second break-in attempt, he was even more convinced he needed to go through Jeremy’s things. If Kayla would let him.

  “I shouldn’t be gone longer than a couple of hours,” he told her. “But I really need you to stay inside while I’m gone.” The last thing he wanted was for the intruder to return, catching Brianna, Ellen and Kayla home alone.

  “We’ll stay inside. We have to finish putting up the Christmas decorations, don’t we?” Kayla glanced at Ellen and Brianna for confirmation.

  “Yay!” Brianna exclaimed.

  “That was the plan,” Ellen agreed.

  Great. More decorations. How many more did Kayla need? He tried not to grimace, knowing he’d put up with the festive atmosphere if it meant the women would stay inside with the security system on. “Sounds good.”

  Leaving Kayla and Brianna was harder than he’d imagined. He waited until Kayla had engaged the security system, and even then had to force himself to walk out to his jeep, when every cell in his body protested. He sped down the highway toward Pelican Point, trying to reassure himse
lf they’d be fine with the security system engaged.

  Thirty-eight minutes later, he reached his destination. Normally the distance was a good forty-five-minute drive. If he kept up like this, he’d end up with a speeding ticket in no time.

  He searched the lakeshore for Charlie. Sure enough, Charlie’s boat, distinctive with the large bold letters of Charlie’s Charter along the side, was docked at the pier.

  He parked his jeep and tried to think of the best way to approach the grizzled old man. If Bill Schroeder’s business had been legitimate, then he would have been a direct competitor of Turkow’s. If something shady was going on, he couldn’t help but think Charlie knew something about it.

  He climbed from his jeep, wondering if he should have worn his dress uniform, instead of casual jeans. Somehow he’d figured that the older man would respond better to less official clothing.

  The older man’s mostly bald head was covered in a dark knit cap. He popped up from below deck the moment Rafe’s foot hit the pier.

  “Charlie Turkow?” Rafe said, flashing a casual smile.

  “Who wants to know?” Charlie asked ungraciously.

  “My name is Rafe DeSilva. I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed. “I’m busy.”

  “I understand, sir, but this won’t take long. I was wondering if you’d seen Bill Schroeder lately? Seems he’s been missing.” Rafe figured since Charlie was out on the water, he probably hadn’t heard the news.

  “No.” Charlie Turkow turned his back, indicating the interview was over.

  Rafe figured he needed to get Turkow’s attention. “Bill Schroeder is dead. Murdered. Do you know who killed him?”

  Charlie’s head swiveled around, surprise clearly reflected in his blue eyes. “No. Who did you say you were again?”

  “Rafe DeSilva. I’m with the ninth district coast guard. We’re investigating Schroeder’s death.”

  “The coast guard?” Charlie’s expression went from mild disdain into a frank sneer. “Forget it. I have nothing to say to any Coasties. Do you hear me? Nothing!”