Shattered Haven

by Carol J. Post

After finishing his last set, he took a long swig from his water bottle. Tomorrow’s workout would be legs, a thought that brought a vague sense of dread. Recent months had given new meaning to the phrase No Pain, No Gain. He ran his hand over the five-inch scar that traveled from his lower thigh down to the top of his shin. All through rehab, he had maintained his upper-body workouts, so that part of his physique hadn’t suffered. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for his legs.

  He slung his towel over his shoulder and moved toward the door. It was time for Brinks’s late-afternoon walk. The dog had been cooped up alone on the boat for the past two hours and was probably about stir crazy. But he wasn’t going out without a leash. Blake had learned his lesson. Good thing the lady had spoken up last night. Otherwise he might be cooling his heels in the Levy County Jail.

  When he stepped onto the dock and approached his boat, a black-and-tan face appeared at one of the windows, and excited barking commenced. Maybe they could take a route that led past the lady’s house. He really wanted to check on her. After last night’s scare, she had looked so vulnerable, clad in her ankle-length robe, feet bare and hair mussed from sleeping. But what had really gotten to him was the fear that lingered in her eyes. It had made his protective instincts kick into overdrive.

  He might catch her outside. If not, from what he had seen during his short time in Cedar Key, people were friendly. A knock on the door from a concerned resident likely wouldn’t seem inappropriate or creepy.

  As he stepped onto his boat, his gaze drifted to the slips to his right, where a sleek white sailboat was moored. It was there when he arrived yesterday, but had disappeared by the time he returned from lunch. Now it was back, its captain still aboard. She stood in profile, holding a hose. A cone-shaped spray burst from its end, and she worked her way toward the bow with slow side-to-side motions. Once he got Brinks, maybe he would introduce himself.

  When he stepped back off his boat, she had finished her spraying and was walking toward the cockpit, hose still in her hand. He moved closer, the raucous calls of seagulls accompanying his steps. Waves lapped against the pilings, and a gentle breeze rustled his clothes.

  He waited to speak until she had stepped down onto the cockpit seat. “Good afternoon, sailor.”

  She started and spun to face him, a sudden spray of water barely missing his feet. The fear in her eyes instantly turned to relief, and his own widened in surprise. Her blond hair was combed into a thick braid, and a Cedar Key boating hat cast her face in shadow, but he recognized her immediately. She was the same woman who had had the break-in.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was coming over to introduce myself, but we’ve already met.” Sort of. He still didn’t know her name.

  She laid the hose on the deck and wiped her hand on her shorts before extending it. “We’ve met but haven’t been formally introduced. Allison Winchester.”

  “Blake Townsend.” Of course, she already knew that. “And this is Brinks.”

  “Like the security company?”

  “Yeah, except in his case it’s more tongue-in-cheek. He’ll lick you to death.”

  She laughed and extended her arm, palm down. After a quick sniff, Brinks slid his nose under her hand and gave a couple of pushes, encouraging a pat on the head. She complied with some much-loved scratching behind the ears.

  “Have they figured out who broke into your house?”

  “No, they haven’t.” She stepped back and began coiling lines and laying them neatly on the deck. “He broke a pane out of one of the library windows, turned the latch and came in that way. Hunter lifted prints, so we’ll see what comes back.”

  “Did he take anything?”

  “Not that I can tell. I think he got scared off. My car’s in the shop getting a new timing belt, so it wasn’t in its usual spot. He probably thought no one was home. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet.”

  Blake leaned against one of the pilings and watched her while she worked. There was something about her that intrigued him. She was definitely pretty. She wore a button-up shirt, its tails tied in a loose knot at her waist, and shorts that stopped a little lower than midthigh. She was lithe and athletic, and even though it was late October, her skin still held a healthy golden glow from summer days spent in the sun.

  But it wasn’t just her looks that sparked his interest. She possessed a down-to-earth sweetness that sucked him in. Moving about her boat and securing it for the night, she seemed so capable and sure of herself. But he couldn’t forget the fear he’d seen in her eyes in the early-morning hours. Or how on edge she’d been when he called out his greeting.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her eyes met his, and something flickered there, a brief flash of vulnerability. Then she resumed her work zipping the cover over the mainsail.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Having your house broken into can be scary. If there’s anything I can do, you know where to find me.”

  The smile she gave him lit her eyes. “Thanks.” She stepped onto the dock and checked the lines she had tied off previously, then straightened. “That’s it. Till tomorrow anyway.”

  “Do you go out every day?” As toned as she was, he wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Not every day. Depends on if I’ve got charters.”

  She started down the dock, and he fell in beside her, trying not to favor his right leg. Brinks walked ahead of them, straining at the leash, eager for his walk.

  “So you’re a charter captain.”

  “Yep. Mostly morning or afternoon excursions, with some day trips and the occasional multiday thrown in. If I do an overnight, I bring along a cook and crew mate. It’s a pretty enjoyable way to make a living.”

  “That does sound like fun.” He scanned the parking area. “I assume your car’s still in the shop?”

  “Yeah, but I usually walk anyway. It’s good exercise.”

  “Do you mind if we walk with you? I’m past due for his afternoon jaunt, and he’s so excited, he can hardly stand it.” He nodded down at Brinks. His breathing was strained, restricted by the pressure he was putting on the collar. The crazy dog was half choking himself.

  “Sure.” She glanced over at him. “Are you vacationing or here for an extended time?”

  “Extended.” Although how extended was anybody’s guess.

  “You said you’re a cop.”

  They turned onto Dock Street, where an eclectic array of wooden buildings lined the water’s edge. Ahead, a series of bright blue stairs and landings led to Steamers Bar and Grill.

  “I was a cop. Not anymore.”

  “Do you think you’ll go back to it once your leg heals?”

  So she had noticed. Either she was really observant, or he wasn’t as good at hiding the limp as he had thought. The total knee replacement was a success. The work on the thigh was another story. Reconstructing mincemeat was a bit more challenging.

  He shook his head. “Too much permanent damage. I’ve got to be able to run as fast as the bad guys. This has slowed me down. I took seven hits.”

  She flinched and offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. So what happened? Did you get caught in a shoot-out?”

  “Something like that. I was working undercover. A drug buy went bad.”

  Of course, there was more to it than that. But he wasn’t going to talk about it. Because if he didn’t talk about it, he would eventually quit thinking about it. Then maybe the nightmares would stop.

  “They offered me a desk job, but I’m not a sit-at-a-desk kind of guy.”

  She studied him. “I can see that. You seem the type that goes for the action. So what do you do, now that you’re not a cop anymore?”

  “I’m still figuring that out. I went for my degree in criminal justice right after high school, and I’ve been a cop eve
r since. Thought I’d die a cop.” Almost did.

  “So you’re in transition.”

  “You could say that.”

  “That’s okay, as long as you don’t stay there forever.”

  She was right. And he wouldn’t. He had always been too driven to sit idle for long. Besides, eventually the insurance money would run out. But long before then, he’d have his head back on straight and be ready to resume the life he had left in Dallas. With a few adjustments.

  They rounded the corner, and Allison’s eyes dipped to Brinks. “How often do you have to walk him?”

  “Usually four times—when we get up, lunchtime, late afternoon and right before bed. Except this morning. For some reason, he decided at three thirty that he had to go out. Wouldn’t leave me alone. We went up on deck, and before I could get his leash on him, he saw the cat and bolted.”

  “Brinks needs to work on his timing. A minute earlier, and you might have been in time to catch the bad guy.”

  When they reached her driveway, she turned to face him. “Thanks for walking with me. I enjoyed your company.”

  She was smiling, but something had changed. Her posture had stiffened, and her blue eyes had darkened with worry.

  He looked past her to the colorful Victorian surrounded by a manicured yard. A polished oak door with stained-glass panels complemented the warm exterior. But inside, the house was cold and empty and silent. And she was walking in alone.

  “Would you like me to go in with you? You know, check the windows and doors?”

  She hesitated while indecision flashed across her features. Finally, she squared her shoulders and mustered a half smile. “That’s all right. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

  “You sure? I don’t mind.” He drew his brows together as another thought crossed his mind. “The window’s been fixed, right?”

  “Terrance did it this morning.”

  “Terrance?”

  “The kid at the marina. Stays on the Bayliner. He does odd jobs for people around town. You’ve probably met him.”

  Yeah, he had. He was quiet and tattooed and walked around with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Blake didn’t know his past, but he had run up against his kind often enough to recognize what was behind that tough-guy facade—a lost kid, trying to prove he could make it without anybody’s help.

  Blake watched Allison let herself into the house, then continued down the road. He hoped to see more of her. She was a fellow boater. Someone who loved the water as much as he did. And she was just an all-around nice person. He wasn’t looking for a romantic relationship, but if something developed, he wouldn’t be opposed. As long as it stayed casual.

  Keep It Casual—that had been his lifelong motto. Except once. And he was still kicking himself.

  Eighteen months ago, both his personal and professional lives took a nosedive. No, they did more than take a nosedive. They crashed and burned. And he’d been trying ever since to regain his equilibrium.

  And all the while, Cedar Key beckoned. He had spent a week there every summer for five straight years. That was when he was a kid, and they were still a complete family—him, his mom, his dad and his little sister. Life was perfect then. His police detective dad was good at shielding them from the ugliness he saw every day.

  Of all the memories he had of his father, vacations in Cedar Key were some of the best. So last week, he closed up his apartment in Dallas, loaded Brinks into his Explorer, hooked up the boat and made the trip to Galveston. While a friend drove the truck and trailer back home, he headed for Florida. Now he was in paradise, surrounded by the rolling sea, quiet sunsets, quaint shops and friendly people. Hopefully the laid-back atmosphere of Cedar Key would offer the peace and direction that had been missing from his life.

  Because if he didn’t find it here...well, he just didn’t know where else to look.

  TWO

  Allison laid the book across her lap and looked at the clock hanging on the rose-hued wall. It was ten thirty. A half hour past her usual bedtime. She heaved a sigh. She was stalling, and she knew it.

  Last night’s break-in had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. During the day, she had done well. First thing this morning, she’d called Terrance and he’d come right out to measure the window and make a list of what he needed. By eleven, the work was done—a new piece of glass installed and paint touched up where the intruder had tried to pry open the window.

  The afternoon hadn’t been bad, either. With a charter that included three active young boys, she had had plenty to occupy her thoughts. But once her customers had headed back to their vacation cottage, all the distractions were gone. That was when the uneasiness started. She began to tackle her chores, and memories of the prior night surged forward. As the sun sank lower in the sky and darkness became an imminent threat, her tension mounted. Then Blake had called out his booming greeting six feet behind her, almost sending her into cardiac arrest.

  But the walk home had been nice. There was something reassuring about having him next to her, Brinks in front. When he offered to go in first, she almost accepted his offer. Then she changed her mind. It was one random break-in. She would buck up and deal with it. She had certainly been through worse.

  Learning that Tom had been murdered had knocked the foundation right out from under her. But his death had been just the beginning. Three nights later, two thugs had showed up—the kind of men who broke legs and threw people in the river in concrete boots. They’d been there to make sure she didn’t talk. But one couldn’t tell what one didn’t know. Apparently, they’d believed her, because they’d left her alone after that.

  Over the next two months, her life slowly unraveled. The more the authorities delved into Tom’s death, the more they learned about his life. And it didn’t coincide at all with what she knew. Her Tom was a detective, honest and hardworking. He even moonlighted as a security guard for one of the wealthy Providence families. The Tom the investigation uncovered was a dirty cop owned by the mob. The honorable man she thought she had married didn’t exist.

  No, after all she went through two and a half years ago, she wouldn’t let anything steal the peace she had found on Cedar Key. She pushed herself up from the couch and bent to turn off the lamp. With Blake at her side, shaking off the effects of the break-in had been easy. Now, in the dark, while most of the neighborhood slept, it was a little more difficult.

  Maybe she should get a dog. A dog would alert her if someone tried to come into the house. And a deep, threatening growl would likely stop an intruder before he even got that far. Yeah, and what would she do with a dog while she was on the boat? A lot of customers would have a problem with a canine guest.

  Maybe an alarm. An alarm wouldn’t have to be taken out and walked. It wouldn’t eat much, either.

  She sighed and started up the stairs, resting her hand against the bronze angel that stood poised atop the newel post. The angel had been there when she bought the house, and although she had completely renovated the old Victorian, it had remained a permanent fixture. Bronze eyes stared straight ahead, serene but alert, as if watching over the house, guarding the front door.

  Except now she wasn’t facing the door straight on, more like she was guarding the sidelight. Had the angel always been slightly turned? Why hadn’t she noticed?

  She cupped its back, slipping her fingers between the bronze wings. The chill that had passed over her the night of the break-in crept along her skin again. Did her intruder try to remove the angel from the newel post? No. With all the valuables in the house, and her iPad and laptop in plain view, the intruder wasn’t likely after a bronze finial.

  She dismissed the thought and tried to straighten the angel, not really expecting it to move. It did. She twisted it back and forth, pulling upward. The angel didn’t come off, but the tugging was creating a small gap in the seam between the
top of the post and its sides. Was it supposed to come apart?

  She strode to the kitchen and returned with a table knife, then worked her way along the seam on all four sides. The top wasn’t nailed to the post. In fact, there didn’t seem to be anything holding the two pieces together except countless coats of varnish and decades of swelling in Florida’s relentless humidity. She continued to pry, her pulse racing as the gap widened.

  Finally the top came loose from the post. She turned it over, checking the underside. A bolt ran through the wood and into the finial, holding the two pieces together. When her gaze moved to the newel post, anticipation coursed through her. It was hollow, its interior hidden in shadow.

  She hurried to the foyer closet to retrieve a flashlight, her heart pounding in earnest. Was something of value hidden inside the secret compartment? Was that what her intruder was after?

  When she returned to the staircase, she shined the light into the opening. About eight inches down was a thick roll of yellowed paper about two and a half feet long, judging from the height of the post. Blueprint size. She slid it out and began to uncoil it. Just what she suspected—house plans.

  Without fully unrolling them, she laid them aside, and they curled back into the shape they had maintained for the past hundred years.

  Surely the secret compartment held something more interesting than house plans. But when she shined the light into the opening again, the beam revealed smooth, hard wood, all the way to the bottom. The compartment was empty.

  She sank to the bottom step and rested her chin in her hands, elbows propped against her knees. Maybe her intruder wasn’t trying to get into the newel post.

  Then why had he tampered with the finial? It hadn’t been turned accidentally. All the times she had gone up and down those steps, the angel had never moved.

  No, he had broken into the house with plans to retrieve something from that secret compartment. He just hadn’t anticipated her being there and the police arriving before he could remove the top.

  Which meant he would be back.