by Debby Giusti
Matt drove to Jacksonville, parked in long-term and headed for the terminal. Don Wilson had called earlier from New Orleans. Santiago was holed up in a hotel on St. Ann Street.
The flight took ninety minutes and seemed like an eternity. After all these months of tracking down tips that led no place, Matt wanted to be present when Santiago was captured. Hopefully, he’d lead them to Gallegos.
The flight was uneventful, but deplaning took longer than normal. A woman with three small children struggled with her overhead luggage until Matt came to her aid. He ended up escorting a crying toddler and two young boys off the plane while the mom chattered nonstop that he was an answer to her prayer for help. The family surrounded him through baggage claim and stayed glued to him until he settled them into a cab headed for their Slidell destination.
He’d lost fifteen minutes, max, but this wasn’t the day to play the Good Samaritan. He grabbed a cab, determined to let nothing else sidetrack him.
“French Quarter. St. Ann Street.”
Opening his cell phone, he punched in Wilson’s number.
“I’m heading your way. Give me thirty minutes,” Matt said when the detective answered.
“We’ll have Santiago in custody by then,” Wilson promised.
Matt clicked the phone shut. The hunt for Pete’s killer was almost over. Santiago would talk and tell them where to find Gallegos. More than anything, Matt wanted to call Connie and tell her he’d found her husband’s killer. He owed her that much.
Maybe then, he’d be able to face Enrico.
Matt shook his head. His heart broke for the kid. Seeing the boy at Pete’s funeral, tortured with the pain of losing his dad, had torn Matt apart.
He wiped his hands over his face and closed his eyes.
Forgive me, Lord, for ignoring that call. Let me make it up to Connie and Enrico. Help me find Gallegos.
A string of police cars, lights flashing, blocked St. Ann’s. Matt paid the cabby and grabbed his carryon. Stopped twice by police, he showed his security badge, thankful Wilson had cleared his access.
He double-timed it down the street, glancing up at the wrought iron balconies hanging over the sidewalks. Lush pots of jasmine and lilac spilled over the railings, their heady scent in sharp contrast to the rotten stench of garbage waiting for curbside pickup below.
The quiet of the barricaded street seemed out of place in the usually bustling French Quarter. No panhandlers tap-dancing for money, no scurry of pedestrians sipping Hurricanes from tall frosty glasses. Just the eerie quiet of the crime scene.
Don Wilson stood by a patrol car. Tall, late thirties, he turned as Matt approached.
A pinprick of anxiety played over the base of Matt’s neck.
Don shook his head as he reached for Matt’s outstretched hand. “Bad news.”
Matt didn’t want excuses.
“We had him surrounded. He was ready to surrender.”
“And—”
“Someone got to him before we could. Two shots. Santiago’s dead.”
TWELVE
The following afternoon, Matt was back at his desk, sipping coffee and staring at his phone. Pulling in a deep breath, he picked up the receiver and dialed. Connie Rodriquez answered on the third ring.
“It’s Matt. Just checking up on my favorite little guy.”
Connie laughed. “He’s sound asleep. Two of his buddies spent the night. Disney DVDs and junk food all night long.”
“Bet Mama didn’t sleep, either.”
“How’d you guess?”
“Connie…” Matt paused, his voice serious. “I got a call from Don Wilson yesterday. They spotted Santiago in New Orleans.”
“Matt—”
“He could have led us to Gallegos.” Anger and frustration welled up inside him. They had been so close. “Someone made sure he wouldn’t talk.”
Connie pulled in a sharp breath. “You’ve got to get past Pete’s death.”
“When his killer’s captured. Even Christ preached justice.”
“Justice, not vengeance. Let it go, Matt.”
“I can’t.” He wiped his free hand over his face. “Still praying for me?”
“Every day.”
“Keep it up.”
An hour later, Matt pulled in behind Lydia’s SUV. Stalled on what had happened in New Orleans, he needed to get his mind on something other than Santiago’s death.
Tyler sat on the front steps, wearing the fluorescent green goggles.
Matt opened the door to his truck and stepped onto the driveway. “Hey there, buddy.”
Tyler jerked his head up. “Chief!”
“Looks like you’re ready for the water.”
Tyler nodded his head. The goggles magnified his eyes. Matt stifled a laugh at his comical appearance.
“I was waiting for you.”
The boy’s honesty touched Matt.
Lydia stepped onto the porch and waved. “Hey, Matt. I was in the kitchen. Didn’t hear you drive up.”
“Just arrived.”
She glanced down at Tyler. “You can’t read with those goggles on, young man. How are you going to finish that library book?”
Tyler’s shoulder’s slouched forward. The kid tried to look dejected. Matt winked at Lydia.
Suddenly Tyler’s face broke into a wide grin. “Can we go swimming today?”
Matt smiled. “Better ask your mom first.”
“Can I, Mom?”
“Sure you don’t have more important things to do?” she asked Matt.
“I said I’d teach him. Might as well get started.”
Tyler jumped to his feet. “I’ll put on my suit.” The boy raced past Lydia and into the house before she could stop him.
She laughed. “He’s been driving me crazy to go swimming. Not that I blame him.”
“I can teach two just as easy as one.”
“No, thanks. I’ll sit on the shore.” She looked at her watch. “When do you want to meet at the beach?”
Matt remembered the way she had raced out of the picnic park after the sand castle contest. He didn’t want her running scared today.
“I’ve got my suit in the truck. We can drive there together.”
Lydia thought for a moment, then nodded. “Go ahead and change in the spare bathroom.”
After Matt slipped into his bathing trunks and T-shirt, he walked back outside, threw his uniform behind the seat of his pickup and pulled out a plastic bag.
Handing it to Tyler, Matt said, “Thought you might like something special for the beach now that you’re learning to swim.”
The boy pulled a bright red towel from the bag. “Cool! It’s got the A.P. logo on it. Where’d you get it?”
“Ran into a friend of mine when I was out of town. He collects all kinds of A.P. stuff.”
“Look what the chief gave me,” Tyler said as Lydia stepped outside in a swimsuit and coverup that matched her blue eyes.
“Did you say, ‘Thank you’?”
Tyler gave Matt a hug. “Thanks, Chief. It’s awesome.”
Clutching the beach towel, Tyler climbed into the truck, and Lydia slid in next to him with her tote bag. Teaching the boy to swim would get Matt’s mind off Gallegos. Of course, it wouldn’t keep his thoughts off Lydia.
The way she looked, he doubted he could keep his mind on anything else.
As soon as they arrived at the community beach, Tyler spread out his towel, then ran to the water’s edge and slipped on the goggles. He padded along the shoreline, leaving footprints in the soggy sand.
Lydia watched her son. Since the incident on the playground, she had yearned to see him happy again. Maybe their lives were returning to normal, after all.
The fresh air invigorated her. She and Tyler had spent the morning holed up in the stuffy library. Thankfully, the head librarian was nowhere in sight. Lydia didn’t need raised eyebrows or grunts of disapproval from someone who had no idea why she was searching the Web.
If only Katherine had a comp
uter. Unfortunately, she claimed cyberspace was beyond her grasp. Her home was filled with the latest technology, just not a P.C.
Matt pulled off his shirt and all thoughts of computers vanished. The guy must lift weights by the looks of his muscles.
“Race you to the water,” he called to Tyler and laughed as the boy ran into the waves. Matt was right behind him and scooped him into his arms, then twirled him around as the water broke around their legs.
Tyler screamed with delight and yelled at Lydia as she laid a second towel on the beach. “Hey, Mom. Look at us.”
She laughed and waved back.
Matt lowered Tyler into the water, continuing to hold on to him. There wasn’t an ounce of fear on his little face. He stretched out his body and kicked his feet. Matt turned him onto his back, and before long, Tyler was floating on his own.
Each time he accomplished a task, he yelled, “Mom, did you see me?”
“Good for you, honey. You’re swimming,” she called back.
The sun was bright, but a breeze kept the afternoon from getting too hot. Lydia walked to the water’s edge and cooled her feet in the low surf, waving when Tyler looked at her for approval.
Matt proved to be a good teacher. After about an hour, Tyler had enough confidence to do a simple backstroke without help.
“He’ll be doing the Australian crawl in no time,” Matt called to Lydia, then ruffled Tyler’s wet hair. “That’s enough for today, buddy. You need to give your muscles a rest. Stay at the water’s edge and play for a while. Your mom and I will watch you from the shore.”
Tyler splashed in the shallow water, chased the waves and seagulls and made motorboat sounds while Lydia and Matt sat on the beach.
Lydia sighed deeply. “I feel more relaxed than I have in months.”
“It’s the ocean. Problems drift away with the tide.”
“I never liked the beach.” She glanced at the sandpipers scurrying along the water’s edge foraging for food. Had there been sandpipers that day? All she remembered was her dad’s stern command to swim.
The memory flooded over her. She had gasped for air, struggling to keep her head above water, while her mother stood by silently watching, fear of her husband holding her back.
Matt touched Lydia’s arm. “You okay?”
She turned to face him, pulled in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Fast-forward twenty-three years. Matt sat next to her, not her dad.
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“A lot of people fear water.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay. So maybe a little,” she admitted.
“Face your fear, and you’ll start to control it. I can teach you.”
“Another day.”
He glanced away, studied the horizon, then turned back to her. “Not too many days left. I’m leaving Sanctuary in a couple weeks.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “What?”
“As soon as the Island Association finds a new security chief.”
“But Tyler’s swimming lessons?” Lydia felt her stomach turn over.
“Two weeks and he’ll be a pro.”
Tyler idolized Matt even just in the short time they’d become acquainted. Now someone else her son cared about would walk out of his life.
“I suppose you’re going back to law enforcement?” she said, disappointment evident in her voice.
“Matter of fact, my old job’s available.”
“Miami, huh?”
“I’m not sure where I’ll end up. Maybe Miami. Or New Orleans.” He glanced at her. “Maybe even Atlanta.”
A chill swept over her, and she shivered despite the heat of the day.
If Matt talked to the cops in Atlanta, he’d learn the police thought she had started the fire.
Something she didn’t want him to know.
She turned to Tyler, playing in the sand. “Rinse off, honey. It’s time to go home.”
The idyllic surroundings of island life had lulled her into a false sense of security. The fire and all that had happened in Atlanta seemed a lifetime ago. But nothing had changed.
The police still believed she was to blame for her husband’s death, and until she could uncover evidence to the contrary, she and Tyler wouldn’t be safe…not here on Sanctuary Island.
Not anywhere.
THIRTEEN
Tyler’s chatter filled the pickup as they drove back from the beach. Lydia didn’t say a word.
Matt was sure she had enjoyed the afternoon. Laughing and waving at her son as he floated in the water, she looked happier than Matt had ever seen her. Until he had mentioned Atlanta.
Then her mood changed fast as lightning.
He was still thinking about Lydia’s reaction when he stepped into his office and heard the phone ring.
“Security. Lawson.”
“Matt, it’s Luke Davenport. Afraid I don’t have good news about the search for a new security chief. Hard to find anyone interested in a small island community. The Association wondered if that new hire of yours, Butch Griffin, might be able to fill the bill. At least on a temporary basis.”
Matt lowered himself into his chair. “I’m not sure, Luke. The guy hasn’t been here long.”
“You’re right. We’re rushing the point. But we know you want to move on. Think about it, Matt. In the meantime, we’ll keep looking.”
Matt hung up and wiped his hand over his chin. Horwitz wouldn’t hold his old job open for much longer. Matt needed to make a decision about Butch, and soon.
The phone rang again.
“You’ve hired yourself quite a cop in that Butch Griffin,” the mainland sheriff said as soon as Matt answered the call. “I told you about the guy who liked his liquor and admitted peeking into windows over on the island?”
“Said you locked him up on drug charges,” Matt replied.
“That’s right. But once the alcohol dried up and the drugs cleared out of his system, he denied the Peeping Tom charge. Said he’d been framed. That’s when Griffin stepped in again.”
“How so, Wayne?”
“He found our mainland burglar.”
“You mean, the Peeping Tom confessed?”
“Affirmative. Griffin tells him we’ll go easy on him if he talks. All of a sudden, he’s singing like a canary.”
“So everything’s wrapped up nice and pretty,” Matt said.
“Outstanding police work, in my opinion. I’d say Griffin needs a raise.”
“He just started working.”
“Yeah. Well, you keep him around, hear me? He’s an asset. Might think about having him step into your shoes when you leave.”
“You been talking to Luke Davenport?”
“No, why?”
“Just a hunch,” Matt said before he hung up.
Butch Griffin had tied up the mainland break-in case in short order.
Wayne Turner had nothing but praise for the new hire, but it was too easy.
‘Course, Matt wasn’t a good judge of anything right about now. His earlier discussion with Lydia had put a bad spin on the day. She had a powerful effect on him…and not all positive.
Face your fear, he had told her. Might as well follow his own advice.
He picked up the phone and dialed the library. “Muriel, this is Chief Lawson.”
He hated to broach the subject, but he needed to tie up loose ends before he left the island. “Have you seen that woman around the library anymore? The one who logged on the porn Web site?”
“Not me. But Juanita worked this morning and said she was back. Spent an hour or so staring at the computer. Even printed off a few pages. Thank goodness her son stays in the children’s section. Wouldn’t want a little guy to see the likes of what’s on that screen.”
“You happen to know the URL?”
“Yes, I checked the computers that first day after she left. Juanita did the same today. I’ve trained her to keep an eye out for those types. The more we can lear
n about what they’re doing, the better.”
Matt didn’t want to hear any more of Muriel’s nonsense.
“Mind telling me the site?”
She gave him the URL.
Matt hung up and booted up his computer, went online and typed in the site.
The home page flashed before him.
What he saw made him want to jam his fist into the monitor.
“Head for the bathtub, young man,” Lydia ordered Tyler when they came home from the beach. “Wash off all that sand and salt while I fix dinner.”
Tyler’s eyes were heavy when he dragged himself to the table. Lydia smiled. Her son’s first day in the water had left him tired but happy. Thanks to Matt.
And she’d overreacted. Just because Matt was thinking of working in Atlanta didn’t mean he’d exchange information with the cops who had given her a hard time. Once again, she had let her own fear get in the way of common sense.
She’d apologize tomorrow.
Children were resilient. Tyler would get over Matt leaving, probably before she would. Part of the problem was she didn’t want to say goodbye.
After dinner, she tucked Tyler into bed, then stepped into the master bedroom and locked the door behind her. She didn’t want her son walking in and seeing what she had printed off the library computer.
If only Sonny’s computer expertise hadn’t forced her to study something that went against every fiber in her body. But she was sure Sonny had hidden information on the Men’s Club Web site. If history proved anything, it would prove her right.
Just as she’d told the reporter, Sonny had lost a good job with a legitimate computer firm because he manipulated their Web site and added a ribald expression in the background of a photo of the company’s headquarters. Merely a joke, he claimed when the CEO called him into his office.
The boss hadn’t appreciated Sonny’s warped humor.
She laid a copy of the Men’s Club home page on the bed, along with shots of the club’s interior and the hostesses at work. If Sonny had information to hide, the Web site was a likely place.
The photos of the women turned her stomach. Some were scantily clad and provocatively poised to accentuate their bodies. How could her husband get involved in such filth? She wanted to rip the photos to shreds and flush them down the toilet.
