Nowhere To Hide
As if aware of her perusal, he turned his head toward her. “You okay?”
His voice rang warm with concern. His eyes seemed softer this time. Or maybe she imagined the change.
“I can turn on a little heat if you’re cold,” he said.
She shook her head and found her voice. “I’m fine.”
He studied her for a heartbeat, then returned his attention to the road.
Thick vegetation bordered the pavement. If Katherine had neighbors, Lydia would be hard-pressed to find them. “It’s so isolated here,” she said, then wished she hadn’t given voice to the thought.
“Private’s the word we prefer. Five-acre lots with plenty of green space. Walk along the beach and you’ll see the homes, each one an architect’s delight.”
She thought about the drive from Atlanta, the final stretch along the narrow two-lane roads. “But so far from civilization.”
“That’s the attraction. Folks here like their anonymity. No one bothers them this far off the beaten path. There’s a little town on the mainland about thirty minutes west of here. It’s got a few shops and restaurants.”
“Sounds like a metropolis.” She almost laughed. “How’d you end up in Sanctuary?”
Why had she asked that question? She didn’t want to get personal.
He tilted his head and glanced out the driver’s window. “Kind of fell into it,” was all he volunteered.
Ten minutes later, they walked into his office. A large, mahogany desk took up the major portion of the room. A bookcase stood behind the leather swivel chair, open Bible on the shelf.
The chief appeared to be neat, organized, perhaps a bit on the obsessive-compulsive side with everything in its place, corners squared, not even a speck of dust. A photo of a young boy, a year or two older than Tyler, hung on the wall next to a row of plaques and commendation awards.
Matt motioned for them to sit on the couch in the corner of the room. He settled into the desk chair and pulled a tablet and pen from a drawer, then turned to face them.
“You’ve got a Fulton County license plate. Still living in Atlanta?”
She nodded.
“Address?”
“Am I being interrogated?” She tried to sound assertive, hoping he didn’t recognize the nervous edge to her voice. “Katherine will confirm that Tyler and I are invited guests.”
He stared back at her for a moment, glanced at Tyler sitting next to her, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll wait till she calls.”
“Thank you.”
“Well…” He looked around the office. “I think I’ll catch up on some paperwork.”
Tyler turned on his Action-Pac and flicked his fingers over the buttons that moved the animated figures across the screen.
“Why don’t I read you a story?” Lydia asked.
“Ah, Mom. I’m almost finished with this A.P. game disc.”
The security chief booted up his computer. “That the new Action-Pac line?”
Tyler nodded.
“Friend of mine says it’s the hottest stuff on the market. Vic calls himself a techno junkie with an A.P. addiction.” Matt shook his head and chuckled. “T-shirts, coffee mugs, screen savers. Anything made with the A.P. logo and he’s got it.”
“Cool. My dad bought me my Action-Pac.” Tyler’s voice was filled with pride.
Sonny had never been one to buy expensive gifts, but he’d given the game to Tyler the night he died. Since then, her son hadn’t let it out of his sight.
As the security chief began to type, Lydia whispered into Tyler’s ear. “Honey, remember when I checked the A.P. game discs Dad gave you?”
“Yeah. You said you had to look at them before I did.”
“That’s right. You gave me all the discs, didn’t you?”
Tyler shrugged. “I think so. Why, Mom?”
Why? Because she wondered whether her computer-whiz husband had hidden evidence on one of the discs, evidence to protect himself before he walked away from the corruption.
Tyler leaned back against her. She wrapped her arm around him, enjoying the warmth of his body nestled close. Her taut muscles began to relax.
Maybe coming to Sanctuary would provide a few days of reprieve, which she desperately needed. She had worked so hard these last months to find out what had happened to Sonny. The fire hadn’t been an accident. Someone had wanted him dead. But who and why? The police? Someone at the club?
She had asked God to help her learn the truth. So far, He’d ignored her request.
The security chief—
What was his name?
She glanced at a plaque on the wall. Matt Lawson, that was it.
Her eyes strayed to a certificate with The City of Miami Police Department scripted in gold. “In grateful appreciation for services rendered.”
A former cop. No wonder Mr. Lawson seemed unsympathetic to her situation. Of course, in his defense she hadn’t given him enough information to realize why she was so cautious. Maybe he’d be more understanding if he knew the truth.
Not that she was willing to explain anything.
Slowly, the tension that had held her tight for so long eased. Her eyes grew heavy. Her mind began to drift….
A phone rang. She jerked awake with a start. Tyler was sound asleep, slumped in her arms. Her watch read 2:00 a.m.
Matt said something into the phone, then smiled in her direction.
“That’s good to hear, Ms. O’Connor. Yes, she and her son arrived a few hours ago. There was a problem with the security alarm.” He motioned for Lydia.
Katherine’s voice sounded tired when Lydia put the phone to her ear.
“Sorry about the alarm,” Katherine said. “I probably should have canceled my trip.”
“And I told you I wouldn’t hear of it. Your sister-in-law’s counting on you,” Lydia hastened to reply.
“Hip replacement at age eighty-two. She’ll need more than my help. I told Matt you were to be given every courtesy. Don’t forget, there are spare clothes in the guest room and a charge card in the desk drawer.”
“That’s not necessary,” Lydia said.
“Buy Tyler a few things for me and don’t be stubborn. You don’t want anyone to trace your credit card. Order anything you need from The Country Store. It’s about fifteen miles west of the island. And there’s a small grocery not far from the house. We can settle up when I return, if you insist.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“You helped me when Patrick died. Fact is grief probably would have killed me if you hadn’t forced me to work through my misery. I know what desperate feels like.”
Lydia blinked back tears of appreciation.
“Plus, I never thought Sonny was good enough for you, but that’s beside the point. The only thing of value he ever did was tell me about Sanctuary. Eight months ago when Atlanta held too many memories, the ocean was just what I needed. Maybe it’ll help you, as well. Now, let me give you the security code before I forget.”
Lydia wrote the numbers on a scrap of paper.
“Tell Matt he owes you a dinner for all the trouble he’s caused.”
“No harm done,” Lydia said.
“The man’s got a good heart, it’s just that his head gets in the way sometimes. And don’t listen to the island gossip. He’s more than paid for his sins. Listen, I’ve got to go, the limousine’s ready to leave for the hotel. I’m praying for you, Lydia. Call you in a day or two.”
Lydia hung up the phone. Unlike her own lukewarm attitude toward the Almighty, Katherine seemed on fire with the love of the Lord. Maybe He’d listen to her prayers.
Matt stood and walked around his desk as Lydia returned to the couch. “The electricity should be on by now. I’ll drive you and Tyler back to the house.”
She nudged her sleeping child. “Wake up, honey.”
Tyler rubbed his eyes. “I’m thirsty, Mom.”
Matt dug into his pocket, pulled out some change and pointed to a side door. “There’s a soda machine down that hall. Connects with the Community Center.” He dropped the coins in Tyler’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” Lydia said, following Tyler through the doorway.
Tyler ran to the machine. “Can I get a cola?”
“An orange drink or lemon-lime. You decide.”
While Tyler studied the selection, Lydia glanced at a glass-covered bulletin board filled with photographs that hung on the wall.
Island Life, a sign read, thumbtacked to the center of the grouping on the wall. Joel Cowan, photographer.
Although she and Sonny had never been to Sanctuary, the four-by-six glossies seemed to capture the casual lifestyle of coastal living. A few photos showed pleasure crafts docked at a marina. Others were of fishermen hauling in their catch and men and woman enjoying the sun and the surf.
Wonder if she’d find Katherine’s face in the collage.
One photo caught her eye. A group of seagulls hovered in midflight, snagging morsels of bread thrown aloft by someone out of camera range.
She smiled at the birds’ frenzy as they vied for food. Two figures stood in the background of the photo. One man watched the gulls while the other—his face cropped off the picture—draped his arm around the first man’s shoulder.
Tyler inserted the coins into the slot. A can dropped to the bottom of the machine. “I got an orange soda.” He ran back to where she stood and popped the top.
The phone rang in the security chief’s office. Lydia glanced through the open door. “Busy place,” she muttered watching as Matt picked up the receiver.
“Lawson.” He paused for a moment. “Why’d you leave the gatehouse, Sam?”
The chief’s body tensed. “How bad is it?”
Matt nodded. “I’ll contact the mainland sheriff.”
Tyler took a long sip of the cold drink, then skipped toward the office, can in hand. “Come on, Mom. Time to go to Aunt Katherine’s.”
“Be there in a second.”
Lydia glanced back at the bulletin board. Something seemed familiar. She bent closer, squinted her eyes. The man in the photo—
“Sonny?”
Lydia sucked in a lungful of air. Her husband was the man in the photo.
But Sonny never had wanted to visit Sanctuary with his wife and son. Whenever Katherine invited them to visit, he would adamantly refuse, claiming he couldn’t spare the time.
Yet, his face had been captured in vivid color next to a sign that read, Help Keep Sanctuary Island Clean.
A picture might be worth a thousand words, but Lydia was speechless. Another lie. Another deception. There had been so many.
She shook her head and thought for a moment. Maybe the photo could be the clue she desperately needed.
If she found out what her husband had been doing on the island, she might find information that would lead her to the men in Atlanta who had killed Sonny.
The men who were now after her son.
THREE
“That wraps it up.” Wayne Turner, the mainland sheriff, midforties and balding, watched as the emergency road crew positioned the last of the fluorescent pylons to warn motorists traveling the narrow two-lane Bay Road. On each side of the pavement, water slapped against the stone embankment.
Wayne turned to Matt and stretched out his hand. “What a night. Flash floods and another home broken into on the mainland.”
Matt returned the handshake. “Kind of spoils the peace and quiet we like here in coastal Georgia.”
“So far, the break-ins have stayed in the dock area. I’ll pull in a few of our more colorful locals for a little heart-to-heart. Might get lucky.”
The sheriff slapped Matt’s back, then paused for a moment. “Heard you’re leaving.”
Matt nodded. “Soon as the Island Association finds a replacement.”
“Big shoes to fill.”
“Thanks, Wayne.”
The sheriff waved his hand in the air and lumbered off to his squad car just as Jason Everett stepped forward. Tall and lanky, the twenty-two-year-old was the youngest member of the security team.
“How’s the embankment holding up?” Matt asked.
“Water’s high, but the northern wall’s still solid. Southern side’s a piece a—”
Matt raised a reproachful eyebrow at his outspoken assistant.
“Washed out with the storm is what I was going to say,” Jason hastily added.
Matt glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have an 8:00 a.m. class?”
“I can skip.”
“Not today, Jas. I told you when I hired you, part-time until you get your degree. You’ve been on the clock for more than fifteen hours. Better head over to the mainland and clean up. I wouldn’t want your professor complaining you smelled up his classroom.”
Grinning, Jason started to walk toward his pickup. “Heard you had a lady friend in the office last night,” he called over his shoulder.
“Eunice talks too much. A houseguest of Ms. O’Connor’s had a little problem with the security alarm.”
“Right.” The kid exaggerated a nod.
“Jason, go home. Clean up. Get to class.”
The young guard wiped the smirk from his face but his eyes twinkled with mischief. He raised his right hand to his forehead in a salute. “Yes, sir.” Dutifully, he climbed into his pickup and headed toward the mainland.
Matt watched the truck disappear from sight. The kid had the makings of a good cop, just so long as his enthusiasm didn’t get the best of him.
Keep him safe, Lord.
The first hint of dawn glowed on the horizon. Overhead, a few stars twinkled, like fireflies on a hot, summer night.
Father, only You know what today will hold. Help me do my job to the best of my ability. Aid me in every endeavor. And forgive me my transgressions.
Lowering his eyes, he stepped toward his truck.
Fair skies and sunshine, the weather reporter had said. A perfect day, except for all that had happened in the last few hours—a woman and child arrived in Sanctuary with only the clothes on their backs and a storm nearly wiped out the island’s only connection with the mainland.
Traveling without luggage screamed of running from something. Ms. O’Connor had vouched for her houseguests, yet instinct told Matt that Lydia Sloan’s story didn’t add up one hundred percent. She was someone to be watched.
Not that he had time to play private investigator. He had reports to file and damage from the storm to assess. He climbed into his truck, pulled onto the pavement and turned left at the next intersection.
So why was he heading north on Cove Road?
Because he couldn’t get the woman’s vulnerable look out of his head.
And the boy? A couple of years younger but Tyler reminded him of Enrico.
Matt pushed the memory aside and focused on the road ahead. At the turnoff to Katherine’s house, Matt lowered his headlights, shoved the gear into neutral and coasted into the driveway.
Lydia’s SUV sat near the house exactly where it had been parked earlier. Light filtered through the curtains.
Either the woman didn’t like the dark or she was having trouble sleeping.
What’s your secret, lady?
Matt stared at the house for a long time, then shifted into reverse and backed onto the main road.
Doubtful she’d be going anywhere soon, especially with a tired little boy in tow. He’d let her rest a few hours, but he’d be back. One way or another, he’d find out what had brought her to Sanctuary.
What did he want?
Lydia peered around the curtain and watched the security chief’s pickup disappear.
Tyler lay sleeping in the guest bedroom, but she was too wired to do anything but pace. She had checked the doors and windows more times than she could count to ensure they were locked, and although her body needed rest, her mind kept thinking back on all that had happened over the last seven months—the fire, her husband’s death, the attempt to kidnap Tyler. So much had occurred in such a short period of time. None of it good.
She had hoped Sanctuary would offer just that. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe her eyes had played tricks on her, but the man in the photo could have been Sonny’s twin. If only she could talk to the photographer. Maybe he’d remember when he’d taken the picture. Hopefully he’d be easier to deal with than the security chief who took his job way too seriously.
Lydia rubbed her neck. She wanted a chance to catch her breath and get their lives back to normal. When Katherine came home, Lydia would ask her to watch Tyler while she returned to Atlanta and continued the search for her husband’s killer.
Lydia glanced at the clock.
Six in the morning.
The Men’s Club in Atlanta closed at three. More precisely, it was supposed to close. Since Sonny’s death, she’d learned the back room activities lasted until dawn and catered to high rollers with money to pay for extra services and live entertainment.
Ruby Pace worked the front lounge. By now, she’d be home in the midtown condo she shared with her mother and handicapped sister, enjoying some quiet time to herself before the other two women rose at seven.
Lydia picked up the phone and tapped in the Atlanta number.
“Yeah.” Ruby answered on the third ring, a tired and angry edge to her voice.
“It’s Lydia. Can you talk?”
The voice softened. “Mama and Charise are sleeping. Where you been? I called your apartment.”
“We left Atlanta.”
“Why?”
“Someone tried to grab Tyler.”
Ruby cursed. “They’re trying to get to you ’cause of that evidence that Sonny hid. The Club hired him to run their Web site. They never expected him to poke his nose around where it didn’t belong.”
“The police still think I started the fire.”
“You tell ’em anything?” Ruby asked.
“Just that there’s more going on at the Men’s Club than meets the eye.”
“They didn’t buy it, did they?”
“Didn’t want to buy it is more like it,” Lydia said.
“Just like Sonny told you. Enough money going under the table, no one has a problem with the police. Real convenient for the cops to look the other way when their bank accounts are gettin’ fat.”
“What about those back room files?”
“Girl, they’re locked up tight. Give me a little time. The doorman I told you about says he wants out, just like me.” She paused. “I’m trying to work a deal. He watches the door while I check the files.”
“Call me.”
“No way, honey. I don’t even want to know where you be hiding. That way Ruby can’t tell the man what she don’t know.”
Lydia shivered, thinking of what would happen to Ruby if anyone at the club discovered she was talking to Sonny’s wife.
“I’m sorry I got you involved,” Lydia said.
“My choice. That night you came snooping around the club, I knew you was out of your element. You got nerve, girlfriend. I like that. Plus, I want a new start. I’ve had enough of this life. Want to move my Mama and Charise away from the city. Get us a little country place.”
“Be careful.”
“You know I will. By the way, that reporter was back.”
“Trish Delaney? What’d she want?”
“Information, just like you. Only she got the cold shoulder and an escort to the door. Maybe you should call her.”
“I…I’m not sure, Ruby.”
“Whatever. Talk to me in about a week. I might have something by then.”
Lydia hung up. Hopefully, Ruby would find evidence to prove the club was a front for something illegal. If she was lucky, information about Sonny’s death might surface, as well.
Whatever Sonny had been involved in now threatened Tyler’s life. Much as it terrified her to hunt Sonny’s killer, she’d do anything to protect her child.
Lydia pulled down the covers and crawled into bed. Just so Ruby didn’t get hurt in the process.
Reaching to turn off the bedside lamp, Lydia noticed a small cross-stitch sampler perched near the clock.
Jesus, I Trust In You, was stitched in tiny Xs across the fabric.
“If only I could,” she mumbled as she turned off the light.
The insistent ring of the doorbell woke her. She opened her eyes and squinted against the daylight streaming through the curtains. Her head felt packed with cotton wool. Too little sleep, most of it plagued with dreams of raging infernos, had taken its toll.
Glancing at the bedside clock, she bolted to a sitting position. Half-past eleven. She had slept far longer than she wanted. Not that she felt rested. Anything but.
She yanked the closet door open and pulled out the blouse and skirt she’d worn the night before. Slipping them on, she made her way barefoot toward the living room.
Tyler stood in the doorway of the guest room, dressed in the G.I. Joe briefs and T-shirt he’d slept in. He rubbed his eyes.
“Who’s at the door?” he asked between yawns.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to find out.” She strode past him, working to control the fear prickling her spine. Surely, no one from Atlanta could have tracked them down in the short time they’d been on the island. Maybe that nosy security chief wanted more information.
Stretching on tiptoe, she peered through the door’s tiny peephole. The distorted face of a high schooler, probably sixteen or seventeen, filled the glass circle.
Mustering her sternest voice, she demanded, “Who’s there?”
“James, from The Country Store. Ms. O’Connor called in a delivery long-distance. Said I was to get everything here by eleven. The storm washed out one of the roads. Had to take a detour.”
Lydia unlocked the door, inched it open and glanced first at The Country Store scripted on the truck’s side panel and then at the same logo stitched on the youth’s polo. She let out a sigh of relief and opened the door wider.
The kid nodded toward the large cardboard box in his arms. “Ms. O’Connor said to send over everything a boy age six might need. I’ve got a box filled with ladies’ things and another one with odds and ends in the truck.”
He dropped the first box inside the door and scrambled down the steps to the delivery truck, where he grabbed two more boxes and deposited them one on top of the other in the entryway.
Lydia reached for her purse. “How much do I owe you?”
“Ms. O’Connor took care of it, ma’am.” He climbed into his truck and waved as he backed out of the driveway.
Before Lydia could close the door, a second van pulled up to the house and an equally enthusiastic teen bounded toward the porch, carrying two large grocery bags.
“Harry’s Market. More groceries in the truck.”
Resigning herself to accepting Katherine’s generosity, Lydia pointed the boy in the direction of the kitchen and watched as he hauled the bags into the house.
“Be happy to unpack the groceries, if you need help.” He placed the last sack on the counter.
“Thanks, that’s not necessary.” Lydia dug in her handbag and pulled out a few dollar bills.
The teen walked back to where she stood by the door and accepted the tip.
Shoving the money into his pocket, he said, “You’re from Fulton County. Atlanta, right?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“Saw license plates just like yours this morning.” The kid shook his head. “Stupid Mercedes almost ran me off the road.”
The hair rose on the back of Lydia’s neck. “What…what color?”
“Black.”
She stiffened. Not the car from Atlanta?
“Probably tourists in a hurry to get to the beach,” a voice said behind her. Lydia turned to see Matt Lawson leaning against the front porch railing.
“Morning, ma’am.” He pulled the baseball cap with the Sanctuary logo off his head and wrapped a tight smile around his broad face. From the looks of his rumpled khaki pants and navy polo, he, too, appeared to be wearing the same clothes he’d worn the night before.
Lydia noticed the creases at the corner of his eyes, more pronounced in the light of day. Although clean shaven, his face was drawn with fatigue. No doubt the chief had not enjoyed the luxury of even a few hours of sleep.
“Hey, Mr. Lawson.” The delivery boy acknowledged Matt with a nod. “Heard there was another break-in last night on the mainland.”
“I’m sure Sheriff Turner’s on top of it, Blake.”
“Harry said no one local would do such a thing.” The teen turned toward the delivery van. “‘Probably dock riffraff, pure and simple.’ That’s what Harry said.”