Shattered Haven

by Carol J. Post

  Besides, she had her own secrets. With a little luck, he would get to the bottom of one of them by daybreak.

  Allison put the unused gauze into its pack and placed each of the items back into the first-aid kit.

  “Well, I think that’ll do it. My professional diagnosis is that you’re going to live.”

  He held up a gauze-wrapped arm. “I look like a burn victim.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you afraid it’s going to mess with your macho image?”

  “No problem there. The limp already has.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’d say the limp goes quite well with the whole wounded hero persona.”

  “If you say so.” He leaned back against the galley cabinets. “What’s on the paper?”

  A flash of panic shot through her eyes. “What paper?”

  “The paper Bobby mentioned. Yes, I overheard.”

  “What, you’ve got bionic hearing, too?” There was an unmistakable touch of defensiveness in her tone.

  “It probably is better than average. So tell me about the paper. Where did it come from?”

  Several seconds passed in silence. Finally, she sighed. “The newel post.”

  He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. She was going to make him pry it out of her. Fine.

  “What newel post?”

  “In my house.”

  “Okay. So this paper was hidden in the newel post. What did it have on it?”

  “Numbers and letters. Mostly numbers.”

  “Any idea what they mean?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Did you keep a copy or write down these letters and numbers?”

  “No.”

  For the next several moments, she didn’t meet his eyes. He was pretty sure she was telling the truth. But he was equally sure there was something she was keeping from him.

  “Not to scare you or anything, but what do you think this guy is going to do when he exhausts places to search? What do you think his next step will be?”

  She slowly lifted her gaze and met his. Her eyes were filled with fear.

  “I have no idea. I try not to think about it. Because if I did, I’d never sleep again.”

  FIVE

  Allison’s eyes shot open. The dead-of-night silence was thick—no creaks, no rattles, not even the persistent whine of the wind through the trees. But she couldn’t shake the uneasiness that had fallen over her, a sense of imminent danger.

  She lay sprawled on her back, unable to move. The room was shrouded in darkness, the moon and stars apparently hidden by clouds. Even the glow of the back porch light was missing. Maybe the bulb had burned out.

  Or someone had unscrewed it.

  She rolled her head a few degrees to the right and strained to make out her surroundings. The furnishings were little more than shadows, slightly darker than the rest of the space. On the far wall was her long dresser with the ornate mirror, next to that, her closed...

  No, the door wasn’t closed. It was open—just enough for someone to slip through.

  She bolted upright, her startled gasp piercing the still night. There was an instantaneous flash of movement, and a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, forcing her backward onto the pillow.

  Panic spiraled through her, and her heart threatened to explode through her chest. She gripped his wrist and pulled. But she was no match for his strength. Kicking and twisting only tangled her legs in the sheets. When she tried to sink her teeth into his palm, the leather glove took the brunt of it.

  Then a cold steel blade pressed against her throat. The fight drained out of her. A hollow coldness settled in her core, and her mouth filled with the metallic taste of fear.

  She lay still, afraid to breathe. A bead of moisture trailed toward the back of her neck. Blood. He had cut her. She resisted the urge to reach for her throat, waiting for him to make the first move. A ski mask covered his face, leaving his eyes hidden in shadow.

  He bent over her, still holding the knife against her throat. “I won’t hurt you as long as you cooperate. You have something I want.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I’m going to move my hand now. If you make a peep, I’ll slice your throat from one ear to the other. Understood?”

  She acknowledged his threat with a slight dip of her head. When he lifted his hand, she drew in a shaky breath.

  He nodded his approval. “Now, tell me what you did with the paper.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  The pressure of the blade against her throat increased. “I don’t believe you. It was in the post. When I came back, it was gone.”

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay calm. One false move, and she would be dead. “I know. I took it out, but I gave it to the police.”

  He continued in his raspy whisper. “I don’t believe you. If you value your life, you’d better give it up.”

  “I’m telling the truth. You’ve torn everything apart. If I had it, don’t you think you would have found it?”

  A long span passed in silence. She had obviously thrown a monkey wrench into his plans. Finally, he took the knife from her throat and turned on the lamp by her bed. What was he doing?

  The next moment, she knew. He grabbed her purse from the nightstand and thrust it at her. “Empty it.”

  She sat up and began removing items. The front pouch held her keys and wallet. The back served as a collect-all for everything she accumulated while out. The center zippered portion held everything else. Once the contents had been removed, she tipped her purse upside down and shook it.

  “Unfold the papers.”

  After she showed him three grocery lists, a crayon drawing from Darci’s son and an advertisement for kayak rentals left under her wiper blade last week, he seemed satisfied.

  “We can search my car, too.” Anything to get him out of her house.

  “I already did.”

  Her heart sank. Her house, her boat and now her car. She had left it sitting beside the house. Locked. He hadn’t broken the glass, or she would have heard it.

  She looked up at him, waiting for him to continue. Nothing was identifiable. Black leather gloves disappeared into the long sleeves of his shirt. Only his eyes were visible. A nondescript shade of brown. And his build. Stocky. Maybe medium height. It was hard to tell sitting in bed.

  “Get up.” The command came in the same gravelly whisper as his other words.

  Her chest clenched. Was he planning to take her with him?

  “What?”

  “I said get up.”

  She scurried from the bed and reached for her robe.

  “Leave it.”

  “Shoes?”

  In response, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and propelled her toward the door.

  God, help me. He was taking her with him. He was going to hold her for ransom until someone turned over the paper.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he directed her toward the kitchen. At the back door, he hesitated.

  “Now kneel.”

  She dropped to her knees on the porcelain tile floor, her mind racing. Was he planning to kill her? She didn’t give him what he wanted, so he was going to execute her?

  Instead of slitting her throat, he shoved her forward until the side of her face rested against the cold hard surface, her knees and arms trapped beneath her chest.

  “Now, count slowly to a hundred. Don’t move until you’re finished.” He unlocked and swung open the back door. A second later, it closed with the softest thud.

  Except for the pounding of her heart, the next several minutes passed in silence. Finally, she pulled herself to her feet, clutching the cabinet for support. She hadn’t counted. If she had, she would have reached a hundred long before she found the courage to
stand.

  She relocked the back door and headed upstairs. She needed to call the police. And she needed to secure her house. She had changed out the original locks. There had only been seven. The others had been replaced sometime before she moved in. There was no way they could be jimmied. The latch turned a full one hundred eighty degrees, burying itself in the opposing track. And both doors had dead bolts.

  But he had still gotten in.

  From now on, she was sleeping with the Glock under her spare bed pillow.

  * * *

  A distant siren pierced the night, bringing Blake instantly awake. In the city, they were so commonplace he tuned them out.

  Not in Cedar Key. In his experience, a siren in Cedar Key usually involved Allison.

  He sprang from the berth, and his body immediately screamed in protest. He was still sore from his tumble two nights ago.

  Ignoring the pain, he shrugged into a T-shirt and jeans and slipped on his tennis shoes. When he stepped off the dock, he headed straight to the bicycle he had left parked by a tree.

  Yesterday morning while Allison was in church, he’d stumbled upon a garage sale. So late in the weekend, most of what was left was junk, the bike included. But it would come in handy. Although everything was within walking distance, taking the bike would be faster. And at five bucks, he couldn’t beat the cost. He hadn’t bothered with a chain and lock. Given the condition it was in, he would have to pay someone to steal it.

  He threw his bad leg over the bar and settled onto the seat. Two minutes later, he braked to a stop in front of Allison’s house. A patrol car sat at the edge of the street, its lights strobing red and blue. Her front door was unlocked. He pushed it open and called her name.

  “Back here.”

  Not knowing where here was, he headed toward the back of the house, glancing into the rooms he passed. She had made good progress putting the place back together. The living room looked ready to entertain guests. The couch cushions were where they belonged, and nothing covered the floor except a green-and-dark-pink area rug. The dining room was spotless, as was the kitchen. That was where he found Allison and Hunter.

  An unexpected rush of relief swept through him on seeing her. His gaze moved to Hunter. “Did someone try to break in again?”

  “He didn’t just try. He succeeded. I’m still trying to figure out how.”

  Hunter moved past him to head down the hall, and Allison turned to face him fully. A jolt traveled all the way to his toes. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in wild cascades, and her skin didn’t hold much more color than the ivory robe fluttering about her ankles. Haunted blue eyes locked on to his, a silent cry for help.

  A fierce sense of protectiveness surged through him, and he took three brisk steps toward her before he caught himself. The crushing hug he longed to give her would be more for his sake than hers. He settled instead for a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “I woke up, and he was in my room.” Her voice was paper thin, with an uncharacteristic waver. Fear still lingered in her eyes.

  A cold lump slid down his throat and settled in his gut. His gaze flicked over her. There were no obvious injuries except...an inch-long horizontal red line marked one side of her throat. Blood had beaded along its length.

  His chest tightened. “What happened to your neck?”

  “He put a knife to my throat and demanded to know what I had done with the paper.”

  He clenched his fists, fury pumping through him. No wonder she was so pale. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I gave it to the police. He didn’t believe me at first.”

  “Does he now?”

  “I think so. He’s searched everything I own. Tonight he made me empty my purse, and he went through my car.”

  “Was it locked?”

  She nodded. “Hunter said he used one of those slim jim tools. It messed up the rubber strip along the bottom of the window.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Anyway, when I told him I didn’t have the paper, he seemed to not know what to do. He made me come downstairs and kneel on the floor. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  Her voice cracked, and she blinked several times, her eyes suddenly moist. The terror of this night would stay with her a long time. He squeezed her shoulder, longing to somehow take it from her.

  “What happened then?”

  “He left.”

  “You told him you didn’t have it, and he just left?” That didn’t sound like someone who was experienced in persuading people to talk.

  “He said to stay on the floor until I had counted to a hundred. When I got up, he was gone. But I don’t think he was giving up. He was just stepping back to regroup.”

  His insides melded into a solid tangle of worry. “You’re not safe here. Is there anywhere you can go until we catch this guy?”

  “We?”

  She had a point. Her protection was Cedar Key’s responsibility. But he had made it his, too.

  She shook her head. “Anywhere I go, he’s going to find me. Cedar Key’s not that big.”

  “Then you need twenty-four-hour police surveillance.”

  “With three full-time and three part-time officers, I don’t think that’s going to happen. But I’m sure they won’t mind driving by and keeping an eye on my place. Hunter and Bobby are already doing that. So is Chief Sandlin.” Judging from the lack of confidence in her tone, the occasional drive-by wasn’t giving her the security she longed for.

  “What about in between patrols?”

  “I’ll be sleeping with the Glock.”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “No, but I was hoping you’d teach me.”

  Her words triggered that familiar tightening in the chest that hit him every time he thought about handling a weapon. “Shooting lessons are a great idea. But there are people who can teach you who are more qualified than I am.”

  She stared at him, jaw slack in disbelief. “More qualified than a cop?”

  Before he could respond, Hunter’s voice came from the top of the stairs. “Allison? You’d better come and look at this.”

  Blake followed Allison into the foyer and up the stairs. Maybe Hunter had figured out how the intruder had gained access. Even though Allison had changed out the old window latches, the creep had gotten in anyway. Whether she wanted him to or not, he wasn’t leaving until he had checked every lock in the place. And changed any he wasn’t happy with.

  Hunter led them into the guest room. On the far wall, a French door and window looked out onto a balcony. The window was open.

  Allison gasped. “But how...” She let the thought trail off. “The window was locked. I’m sure of it.”

  Hunter crossed the room and bent to retrieve some objects from the floor. “You’re right. In fact, the lock is still latched. It’s just not attached to the window.”

  He showed them what he held. A completely functional lock and four small screws lay in one latex-covered palm. “The screws are obviously too short to go through the latch and into the wood. You’ll probably find some outlet covers with missing screws.”

  Blake frowned. “When he was inside ransacking the house, do you think he swapped out screws so it would look like it was secure, but wasn’t?”

  Hunter nodded. “That’s exactly what I think. Then all he had to do was shimmy up one of the balcony posts, remove the screen and lift the window. He was in with hardly a sound.”

  Allison shook her head, shock still etched into her features. “I looked at all the latches in the house. If they were the new style, I knew they were secure and didn’t even check.”

  “Well,” Hunter began, “you were half right. These are good, solid locks. Unfortunately, if they’re not securely attached to the window, they
’re worthless.”

  Blake walked through the upstairs, checking outlets. As expected, four covers were missing screws, two in the guest room, one in the bathroom and one in Allison’s bedroom. The longer screws had disappeared.

  Hunter turned to Allison. “It’s a long shot, but since he may have handled this previously, I’m going to see if I can lift any prints from the latch itself. Otherwise, I’ll spare you the pleasure of the messy black powder.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Then we need to get that reattached. I’d like to check the other locks, too, just to make sure they’re secure.”

  “I wasn’t going to leave without seeing to that myself.” Blake cast a teasing glance at Allison. “Unless she throws me out.”

  Allison held up both hands in surrender. “Check to your heart’s content. It’ll only make me feel better.” She crossed her arms in front of her and looked up at Hunter. “Any luck deciphering what I gave you?”

  One brow lifted in question.

  “Yeah, he knows. Bobby mentioned it, and he overheard.”

  Hunter cast him a conspiratorial glance. “I’m a pretty good judge of character. I think you can trust him.”

  Blake smiled. It was good having Hunter in his corner. His word seemed to carry a lot of weight with Allison. Since Hunter thought he was okay, Allison thought he was okay. And for some reason, that mattered.

  Hunter heaved a sigh. “I haven’t figured anything out yet. I’ve shown it to the other officers. Some ideas have been tossed around, but nothing we could really go with.”

  Allison looked up at Blake, and one side of her mouth cocked up. “How good are you at puzzles?”

  “I’d say I’m as good as the next person.”

  “Then follow me.”

  She turned and padded down the stairs, her robe flowing out behind her, a pool of ivory silk. As Hunter headed out to retrieve his fingerprint kit, Allison swung open the double doors to the den. Inside was total chaos. She obviously hadn’t gotten there yet.

  She crossed the room to pull a sheet out of the printer, sidestepping the papers and file folders slung about. After scrawling three lines, she handed him the page. “What do you make of this?”