Shattered Haven

by Carol J. Post

  As the two men moved toward the dining room, Blake’s limp appeared more pronounced than usual. He was apparently too focused on the investigation to think about trying to hide it. He circled the room, his gaze settling briefly on each item out of place. A pinkish-tan scar extended a couple of inches below the hem of his shorts, visible proof of the injury that had ended his career. It was the only visible proof. His sun-kissed, muscular arms were...perfect. He obviously hadn’t spent his recuperating months sitting idle.

  Without warning, those observant dark eyes met hers, and heat crept up her cheeks. He responded with a knowing smile, which only made it worse. Her gaze shifted to where Hunter stood dusting the open door of her china cabinet. They still had the library to do. And then the whole second floor.

  “Check this out.”

  Blake’s words cut across her thoughts. They were probably directed at Hunter, but she moved closer to see what he had found. When he spoke again, his question was for her.

  “Did you remove the screen from this window?”

  She stepped up next to him. The window was on the side of the house, blocked from the view of the street by one of her moss-draped live oaks. Now that Blake had pointed it out, she saw it, too—the screen was gone.

  “No, I didn’t.” She put her face close to the glass. Lying on the ground next to the house was the missing screen. “In fact, I just mowed two days ago. I may not have noticed it missing from the window, but I know for a fact it wasn’t lying on the ground.”

  Hunter joined them. He hadn’t made it to that side of the room yet. “Do you think this is where he gained access?”

  With latex-covered hands, Blake gripped the edges of the handle and slid the window upward in its track. “I’d say that’s a definite.”

  “But how...” She let the words trail off. It had been locked. She had checked.

  In answer, Blake lowered the window and turned the latch. It barely made contact. “A little jimmying, and this would rattle right out of here. We need to look at installing some new locks.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard, a sudden sense of vulnerability sweeping through her. She would get some new locks installed. ASAP.

  Blake had said we. But she always paid her way. She would hire Terrance. Or maybe do it herself. Installing window glass was beyond her level of expertise, but she could change latches, even if she had to drill holes. Over the past two years, she had acquired several new skills. And quite a few tools. And a good dose of independence.

  Boarding her boat and heading for Cedar Key alone was the scariest thing she had ever done. So was taking a good chunk of the life insurance money Tom had left and purchasing the house. But staying in Providence hadn’t been an option. Neither had going back to Boston to accept help from her parents. She didn’t need to hear I told you so.

  So she summoned a strength she hadn’t known she had, sold most of her belongings and headed for Florida. The strength had apparently been there all along. She had just never needed it before.

  She nodded at Blake. “New locks. That’s a project for tomorrow.”

  Hunter finished processing the area, and they stepped from the room. At least there hadn’t been much stuff out in the dining room. Napkins and place mats had been removed from the buffet and lay scattered about the table. But except for some china being shifted around, the mahogany hutch was pretty much as she had left it. The rest of the house was the problem. She was going to spend the next month getting everything cleaned up, reorganized and put back where it belonged.

  How had she accumulated so much in two short years? She had left Rhode Island with nothing but her boat, then bought a used car and golf cart. Now she was the proud owner of a newly restored 1880s Victorian and surrounded by stuff. She knew exactly where it had come from. And it was Darci’s fault. Allison met her her first week in Cedar Key, and they became fast friends. Then Darci got her hooked on yard sales, estate sales and consignment shops. Now, two years later, the place was fully furnished, her wardrobe rebuilt and her personal belongings restocked. And then some. Bargain hunting had proven to be addictive.

  “Ready to tackle the upstairs?”

  The question came from Hunter.

  Blake gave a mock salute. “Ready when you are. You’re the boss.”

  Allison followed them. The guest room wouldn’t be bad. There wasn’t much in there. Her bedroom...that was another story. She dreaded the sight—everything dragged out of her closet, drawers emptied onto the floor. Unmentionables strewn about the room.

  And Blake walking through everything.

  No. That was where she was drawing the line.

  As Hunter entered the room, she stepped in front of Blake and planted her palm against his muscled chest.

  “Stop right there.”

  He looked at her with raised brows but didn’t respond.

  “You’re not going into my bedroom.”

  “Why not?” The corner of his mouth quirked, as if he was trying to stifle a grin.

  “Because I said so.” She made a shooing motion with both hands. “Go investigate the guest room or something.”

  He didn’t bother to hide his mirth now. He threw back his head and laughed, a hearty belly laugh, then gave another mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She watched him disappear into the bedroom at the end of the hall, then steeled herself for what she would find in hers.

  It was every bit as bad as she had expected. She circled through the room, stepping around the items scattered about. The mattress had apparently been picked up and dropped back down. It was hanging over one side of the box spring by six inches. Her closet was cleared out, her dresser drawers empty except for Tom’s Glock.

  She moved to the dresser and opened the antique jewelry box. Nothing appeared disturbed. A small sense of relief filtered through the dread, a sliver of light in the darkness.

  She turned to find Hunter watching her. “Is it all there?”

  “Looks like it.”

  He frowned. “He left your jewelry and the Glock. This isn’t the work of an ordinary burglar.”

  No, it wasn’t. Her intruder was interested in only one thing. And she needed to tell someone.

  Her gaze locked with Hunter’s, and in that moment, she made her decision. Regardless of what they might find, Hunter wouldn’t hold it against her. And he wouldn’t tell anyone. In the two years she had known him, he had done nothing but gain her respect. He was honest, hardworking and compassionate. He was even active in church—taught a middle-school boys’ Sunday School class.

  Her cautious trust didn’t extend to Blake. He seemed all right. More than all right. But she had thought Tom was all right, too.

  “I think I know what they were looking for.” She spoke the words in a whisper. “I’m giving you something, but I don’t want Blake to see it. I don’t want anyone to know but you and Chief Sandlin.”

  His gaze was filled with unspoken questions. “O-kay.”

  “I guess the other Cedar Key officers are okay, too.” But the fewer people that knew, the better. At least until she deciphered the clues. She pulled the paper from her purse and handed it to him. She didn’t need to copy the information down. She had read it so many times she had it memorized. “I found this rolled up with the house plans in the newel post.”

  “R45 87, G45 165, R2.55 282.” His gaze met hers. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. I think my grandparents hid something. And until I know what it is, I don’t want word of this getting out.”

  He gave a brusque nod. “Agreed.”

  As he refolded the sheet and slid it into his shirt pocket, relief washed through her. Whatever was significant about that information, the intruder was determined to get his hands on it. Since he had failed again, she probably hadn’t seen the last of him. As long as she
held on to that paper, she wasn’t safe.

  When she walked the two men out twenty minutes later, Hunter left, but Blake hung back. He leaned against one of the posts supporting her porch roof. “Are you going to be okay? I’ll be happy to change some window latches if you tell me where I can get them.”

  Her eyes met his. The concern she saw there threatened to turn her into a puddle of mush on the newly painted porch floor.

  She shook off the effect and squared her shoulders. “I’ll be fine. I’ll have Terrance do it. Or I might get a wild hair and do it myself.”

  He nodded. “And the clean-up, if you don’t want to face all that alone, you know where to find me.”

  She gave him a shaky smile. It was nice of him to offer, but having him help her put all her personal belongings away seemed too intimate.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Two break-ins in one week seems a little excessive.” The words weren’t phrased as a question. But it was there all the same. He was interrogating her with his eyes.

  She shrugged off his penetrating gaze. She didn’t owe him any explanations. “I guess there isn’t anywhere exempt from crime, even Cedar Key.”

  “That’s true. But this isn’t your run-of-the-mill burglar. Any idea what he’s looking for?”

  It was the same question Hunter had asked. But something in Blake’s tone raised her hackles. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I’m not into anything illegal.”

  He didn’t respond, but continued to study her. She knew that look. She had seen it often enough—narrowed gaze, head angled slightly away, mouth set in a barely perceptible frown. Suspicion. Disapproval.

  A dark cloud settled over her. She had escaped all that when she boarded her sailboat and fled Providence—the suspicious glances, the relentless questioning by police. It didn’t matter that she was innocent, that she had gone about her pampered life, blissfully ignorant of her husband’s activities. She was guilty by association.

  Would it be the same in Cedar Key? If the clues led to something illegal, some kind of contraband or dirty family secret, would she once again find herself an outcast, shunned by society?

  Maybe her intruder knew that. Maybe he planned to blackmail her with the information. Or worse yet, pin something incriminating on her.

  With all she had been through, nothing was out of the realm of possibility.

  * * *

  Blake stared at the fiberglass ceiling two and a half feet above where he lay. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a deep-toned backdrop to the lapping of water against the hull. A muted flickering filled the eastern sky.

  But it wasn’t the approaching storm keeping him awake. It was thoughts of Allison. He was having a hard time figuring her out. She had a sweet air of innocence about her, a wholesome, girl-next-door quality.

  But she was holding back. She knew what the intruder was after. And for some reason, she didn’t want to tell anyone. Although Hunter didn’t press, he did. And she instantly bristled. He wished he had gone about it differently. Because now there seemed to be an invisible wall between them, the tentative camaraderie they had built over the past two days strained.

  What had she gotten involved in, and why wouldn’t she talk to him? Had she taken something, and someone was determined to get it back? No, whatever Allison was, she wasn’t a thief.

  Maybe she was holding on to something with blackmail in mind. But that didn’t sound like Allison, either. There was nothing cunning or deceitful about her. Whatever trouble she had found, she probably hadn’t been looking for it. And now she was in over her head.

  And she was scared. No matter how she tried to hide it, fear glistened in those clear blue eyes, along with an underlying vulnerability that just about made him come undone.

  He heaved a sigh and turned on his left side to massage his right leg and knee. The berth was fairly comfortable. But bad weather made everything ache. That was something he had learned to live with. He refused to feel sorry for himself. The dull ache brought on by changes in barometric pressure was nothing compared to the agony he’d endured during the weeks following his injury—the multiple surgeries, the powerful antibiotic injections when infection set in and he almost lost his leg, and the weeks of intensive physical therapy once he was on the mend.

  He rolled onto his back, once again stretching out. Helping the Cedar Key cop with his investigation had been good. Actually, it had been downright exhilarating. He snickered, breaking the relative silence of the cabin. No, walking into a drug king’s lair and posing as a big-time dealer had been exhilarating. Working a simple B&E was not. Thinking it was meant that he’d been away from police work too long.

  Maybe he should consider going back. He had progressed far beyond his doctor’s best prognosis. Of course, he’d also pushed himself harder than what any sane human being would. But the result had been worth it. He’d gotten most of his strength back and was left with just a limp. And a lot of scarring. And a leg that didn’t quite work the way it was supposed to.

  But there were options other than desk work. Maybe investigations. Something a little less intense than narcotics. But whatever he did, he would have to be willing to carry a gun.

  And use it.

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories trying to barrel forward. Internal Affairs had cleared him. Said it wasn’t his fault.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to clear himself.

  He sat up and scooted to the end of the berth to rest his feet on the floor and met a sleek, furry body. Within seconds, Brinks was wide-awake and standing. Great. Now he would think it was time for a walk. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. It might help him clear his head.

  He retrieved Brinks’s leash from the counter in the small galley area and lifted his gaze to the wide, squat window. It offered a good view of the eastern sky, where the light show continued. Heavy cloud cover obscured the jagged streaks, which displayed in a rapid series of flashes that spanned the horizon. The storm was a long way off. It might miss Cedar Key altogether.

  He slipped a T-shirt over his head and clipped the dog’s leash to his collar. After snagging his tennis shoes from the floor, he headed up the companionway stairs, Brinks in the lead. Almost immediately, he was hit with a cool, salt-scented breeze. Boats rocked gently at their moorings, the rigging on the two sailboats making a soft clanging. Masts rose skyward, one a good ten feet taller than the other one. That would be Tranquility, Allison’s boat.

  He slipped a bare foot into one shoe, then let his gaze slide upward again, toward where he knew Tranquility rested. The boat itself was hidden from view by the MasterCraft in the next slip, but the mast stood out against the charcoal-gray sky. It swayed back and forth, moving with the gently rolling sea.

  Suddenly he tensed, his back ramrod straight. From his angle, looking abeam, it was hard to tell. But the mast had just seemed to dip away from him, as if someone had climbed aboard. Was Allison out here in the middle of the night? Somehow he doubted it.

  He slipped on his other shoe and yanked the laces tight, then tied Brinks off to a cleat. If there really was an intruder out there, a trained canine would be an asset. Brinks would get in his way. Or lead him on another middle-of-the-night chase.

  As soon as he stepped onto the dock, he knew. Someone hadn’t just boarded Tranquility. He had gotten off. A crouched figure moved silently up the short span of dock that ran beside the boat. When he reached the main dock, he glanced back, straightened to his full height and ran toward the marina.

  Blake shot off after him. Nine chances out of ten, he was the same guy who had broken into Allison’s house. Twice. If he could catch him, he could put an end to her ordeal. And maybe find out what she had to hide.

  He reached the end of the dock, rounded the side of the Cedar Key Beach and Yacht Club and pounded across the asphalt. The distance betwee
n him and the intruder was expanding. The creep was losing him. He was going to get away.

  Not if he had anything to say about it. He pushed himself harder, giving it all he had, forcing his leg to function the way it was supposed to. The dull ache intensified, becoming a burn, then a stabbing pain.

  Too late, he realized that his center of gravity was no longer over his feet. He was toppling forward, his struggling leg unable to keep up. He thrust his hands outward and, a fraction of a second before hitting the pavement, twisted sideways to protect his knee.

  He landed on his left leg and arm, skidding several inches before coming to a stop. For some time, he lay there, taking inventory. Nothing seemed to be broken. And his right leg didn’t hurt any more than it normally did. He slowly sat up, and that’s when the stinging throb started. His entire left side was on fire. He turned his hand over to examine it in the light of the nearby streetlamp. From palm to elbow, he was scraped and bleeding. The side of his left leg looked the same, with bits of gravel mixed with the blood.

  He rose to his feet and stumbled back to the dock. There was no sense in pursuing the chase. Allison’s intruder was gone. Tomorrow he would have to tell her. He had seen the creep sneaking away from her boat and given chase.

  And he fell.

  Embarrassment washed over him. What kind of cop was he? Couldn’t even chase a criminal and stay on his feet.

  What kind of man was he?

  He stepped onto his boat, untied Brinks then coaxed him back down the companionway steps with the promise of jerky treats. The walk no longer had appeal. Brinks could wait till morning. He would call nine-one-one, then doctor his wounds. And leave the police work to those more capable.