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One step at a time, she told herself, pulling in a deep breath and moving her hand across the wall. She found the light switch, flipped it on, but the darkness remained.
“The storm probably knocked out the power,” she said, hearing a glimmer of hope in her voice. Without electricity, the security alarm wouldn’t work—she turned her head, spied the row of lights glowing from the keypad on the far wall—unless the system was powered by a backup battery source. A high-pitched hum signaled the alarm was engaged, security had been breached. Thirty seconds later, a deafening screech blasted through the night.
Tyler covered his ears to block out the blare. Lydia still held the crumpled paper. If only the rain hadn’t smeared the ink.
She tried to recall important dates—birthdays, anniversaries, anything that might be the correct sequence of numbers. She tapped in four digits, pushed enter then waited for the heinous noise to still.
Frantically, she tried another combination. Then another.
A lump clogged Lydia’s throat as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She wouldn’t let Tyler see her cry.
A phone rang, the sound barely audible over the roar of the alarm. She moved into the kitchen, worked her hand across the granite countertop, knocked the phone off the receiver, then somehow managed to grab it before it fell to the ground.
“This is Sanctuary Alarm Service,” a woman’s voice drawled across the line.
Lydia clutched the edge of the kitchen counter as her body slumped with relief. “I’m glad you called. The alarm—”
“Password, please.”
“I’m afraid I…You see, my son and I—”
“Password?”
“I’m sorry—”
The phone clicked dead. Lydia dropped it back onto the receiver as Tyler moved closer.
“It’s gonna be okay, Mom.”
She wrapped her arms around her son. As far as she was concerned, things couldn’t get much worse.
Then a beam of light sliced through the darkness as someone pushed the front door open.
TWO
Matt Lawson peered into the darkness, saw movement and aimed his gun. “Hold it right there.” He raised the flashlight in his left hand. The arc of light broke through the darkness. “Sanctuary Security. Step toward me. Hands in the air.”
No reaction.
“Now, buddy!”
A woman moved from the shadows. Slender. Five foot six. Shoulder-length blond hair. A child peered around the counter. She shoved him protectively behind her.
“What’s going on, ma’am?”
Lightning illuminated the spacious kitchen. Two seconds later, a clap of thunder confirmed a nearby hit.
Why in the world would a woman and child break into one of the prestigious homes on Sanctuary Island? The woman certainly didn’t look as if she belonged in the upscale community. Wrinkled clothes. Hair hanging limp around her oval face. She reminded him of a stray cat, needing to be fed.
Matt shook his head ever so slightly. The past year working security on the island must have skewed his common sense. He’d seen plenty of female perpetrators on the streets of Miami.
Didn’t matter how pathetic the woman standing before him looked, he’d still have to take her back to the office, question her and, if need be, call in the mainland sheriff’s office.
No reason why this scared wisp of a thing couldn’t be up to no good in coastal Georgia.
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Who are you?” she demanded, finally finding her voice.
“Chief Lawson, island security.”
She shifted her weight and stuck her chin in the air. A defiant gesture that didn’t match the glint of fear flashing from her eyes.
“Then show me some identification,” she insisted.
The alarm continued to shriek a warning. Letting out a frustrated breath, Matt tucked the flashlight under his arm, pulled his radio from his belt and punched in a number, never taking his eyes off the woman.
“Eunice, this is Matt. I’m over at 50 Cove Road. Turn off the alarm.”
The house fell silent.
He traded the radio for his badge.
She stepped closer, read the information, then glanced up at him as if comparing his face to the photo.
“Now what’s your name?” he repeated.
“It’s Lydia…Lydia Sloan. And I don’t appreciate you barging in and scaring me half to death.”
Her assertive attempt fell flat. She looked tired and more than a bit confused.
Lowering his voice, he repeated, “You need to tell me what you’re doing here.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at him, as if weighing her options.
“Katherine O’Connor invited us,” she finally said.
Matt shook his head. “Why would—”
“She said my son and I could stay while she’s on a trip to Ireland,” the woman quickly added, then blinked.
Innocent eyes. He thought he could read people. Hard to believe Ms. O’Connor would have houseguests when she was out of the country.
He looked at the boy, small, slender like his mom, with her blue eyes and blond hair. The kid could play a cherub in a Christmas play and steal the show.
A look of determination washed across the boy’s face. “Don’t you arrest my mom.”
The last thing he wanted was to scare a child. “Look, son—”
“I’m not your son,” the boy shot back.
The woman wrapped her arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Tyler, please.”
Matt raised his gaze. The woman watched him, eyes filled with suspicion, face drawn tight with worry.
“How’d you get inside the house, ma’am?”
“Katherine left a key on the porch.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Kind of makes my job a little tougher when the residents leave a welcome mat out for anyone who happens along.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lydia’s body stiffened. “As I said, Tyler and I were invited here.”
“But Ms. O’Connor turned on the alarm? Now, that makes about as much sense as—”
“I can explain.” The woman held out a crumpled wad of paper. “She left the code for me. The rain smeared the ink.”
He took the paper from her hand, unfolded it and aimed the flashlight. Peacock-blue ink. The same distinctive color Ms. O’Connor had used when she’d completed the out-of-town paperwork requesting additional surveillance of her home. Of course, she hadn’t mentioned any houseguests.
“Funny, she could have given you the code over the phone,” he said.
Lydia shrugged. “I didn’t have paper to write on. Katherine said she’d leave it under the plant. We never expected the rain.”
The woman appeared to be telling the truth. But better to play it safe. A number of homes on the mainland had been burglarized recently. Wouldn’t take much for trouble to make its way to the island.
“Let’s take a tour of the house. You lead the way, ma’am.”
She hesitated. “Is this necessary?”
“’Fraid so. I need to make sure no one else is hanging around.”
“Well, of all the—”
“Call it what you like, ma’am. Let’s get started.”
She sighed, but nodded for the boy to walk with her, then kept her hand on his shoulder as if to ensure he wouldn’t stray from her side. Matt stepped around the counter and worked his flashlight over the adjoining great room.
A painting hung on the wall, Christ in a fishing boat with the disciples, calming the Sea of Galilee.
Matt glanced outside. The cloud cover broke momentarily. The moon peeked through the large Palladian windows that stretched across the back of the house. A ribbon of moonlight glowed along the beach and the ocean beyond. Eight-foot waves. Too bad the Good Lord hadn’t calmed the sea tonight.
“Keep moving,” Matt said, his eyes probing the shadowed corners of the room, behind the double sofas and the Queen Anne chairs.
The master bedroom. Adjoining bath with the largest tub he had ever seen. Walk-in closet.
Everything in place, neat as a pin. No sign of forced entry or other presence. Three guest bedrooms, two baths. A small office, undisturbed.
The tension in his neck eased as he let out a deep breath. “Looks like you two are the only ones I have to worry about tonight.”
The woman whirled around to face him. A streak of moonlight fell upon her face. She was pretty, or would be if her lips weren’t drawn tight with resolve. Right now, she looked like a mare ready to trample anyone or anything that ventured too near her newborn colt.
“Calm down, lady,” Matt said. “No use getting riled up.”
“Look, Mister—”
“Matt,” he reminded her. “Matt Lawson.”
“I don’t appreciate Sanctuary Island’s welcoming committee.”
Spunky, he’d give her that much. “Just doing my job.”
The woman’s anger dissipated ever so slightly. “Katherine is my husband’s aunt.”
Family? “Any way you can prove that? Photos maybe?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know where they’d be. Katherine moved here about eight months ago. We’ve never visited before.”
We? “You and your husband?”
She shook her head. “He…” She cleared her throat, pursed her lips, then swallowed. When she spoke, the words came out a whisper.
“My husband died a few months ago.”
Not what he expected. He looked at the boy. Either the kid was Academy Award material or the story was legit.
“How’d you get past the gate guard?” Matt asked.
She hesitated as if the question had caught her by surprise. “I didn’t see a gate.”
“At the turnoff from the Bay Road?”
She shook her head. “The storm…it was raining.”
“There’s only one way in.” Who had gate duty tonight? He tried to think. Sam Snyder. Of all the luck. Sam should have retired years ago. The old guy had probably fallen asleep in the guardhouse. But why had he left the gate open?
Once again, Matt yanked the radio off his belt, punched in a number and put the receiver to his ear. “Eunice, contact Jason. See if he can run by the guardhouse, check on Sam. And look up Ms. O’Connor’s paperwork. As I recall, she went to Ireland to help her sister-in-law.”
He glanced out the window while Eunice searched for the file.
“Here it is, Chief. Orlando to Dublin. Nonstop.” The dispatcher told him the arrival time.
“Any mention of a houseguest?”
“Not a word.”
“Contact the airport in Dublin. Leave instructions for her to call me ASAP.”
“Will do.”
