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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.
