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“Talk to me, Lydia.” The warmth in Matt’s voice touched her. She gazed into his eyes and saw something she hadn’t seen before-compassion, concern, empathy. “What happened in Atlanta?”
“There…there was a fire.” Whether it was the late hour or the haunting memory, the words slipped out before she realized. Her palms grew damp. “I got Tyler outside and went back for Sonny…but there was no hope.”
Matt reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She dropped her head onto his chest and let the tears fall. She cried for her husband who had died, for her son exposed to too much pain and for a way of life that had been introduced to an unending fear.
MILLS & BOON
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DEBBY GIUSTI
is a medical technologist who loves working with test tubes and petri dishes almost as much as she loves to write. Growing up as an army brat, Debby met and married her husband—then a captain in the army—at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled throughout the world, raised three wonderful army brats of their own and now see the military tradition carried on in their son, who’s also in the army. Always busy with church, school and community activities, Debby knew it was time to settle down and write her first book when she and her family moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Despite occasional moments of wanderlust, Debby spends most of her time writing inspirational romantic suspense for Steeple Hill.
Debby wants to hear from her readers. Contact her c/o Steeple Hill, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. Visit her Web site at www.debbygiusti.com and e-mail her at debby@debbygiusti.com.
Nowhere to Hide
Debby Giusti
The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know YOUR name will trust in YOU, for YOU, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek YOU.
—Psalms 9:9–10
To my wonderful husband, Tony
For your love, support and encouragement.
You’ve always believed in me. Thank you, honey.
To Elizabeth, Joseph and Mary
God blessed me abundantly with the gift of
each of you. No mother could be more proud
of her children.
To Sharon Yanish, Dianna Love Snell,
Darlene Buchholz and Annie Oortman
Dear friends and outstanding critique partners
To Georgia Romance Writers
Especially Mae Nunn, Jennifer LaBrecque,
Doreen Graham, Anna DeStefano, Rita Herron,
Stephanie Bond, Karen White, Wendy Wax,
Nancy Knight and Carmen Green
To Love Inspired authors
Margaret Daley and Lenora Worth
To my editor, Krista Stroever
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
“Not my baby!”
In a split second, Lydia Sloan saw everything unfold—the black Mercedes parked in the deserted school yard, the tinted window partially lowered, her six-year-old son’s hesitation before he stepped toward the stranger’s car.
Fear shoved her heart into her throat.
She swerved to the curb, clawed at the door of her SUV and leaped into the late-afternoon storm. The wind pulled at her hair and rain slapped against her face as the buzzer on the dashboard blared a warning she’d left her key in the ignition. All she cared about was the alarm going off in her head.
Someone was trying to kidnap her son.
“Tyler!” she screamed as she ran toward him.
Her feet splashed through puddles. Water splattered her legs. She slipped, caught herself, then continued on, desperate to reach her son.
Her lungs burned like fire. If anything happened to Tyler, she would never breathe again. Over and over, she cried his name, but the storm drowned out her words.
Her son moved closer to the Mercedes.
Lydia surged forward, flailing her arms. “Tyler! No! Stay away from the car!”
He was oblivious to the warning.
“God, help me.” She cried.
Lightning ripped through the sky. Hit its mark. Thunder exploded behind her.
Tyler jumped at the sound. He turned, saw her and stepped away from the car. The door opened. A hand reached out to grab him. Fingers hooked his book bag.
He jerked free.
“Run, Tyler!”
A moment later, he was in her arms. His small fingers dug into her neck. She hugged him tight, both of them crying as they clung to one another.
The door of the Mercedes slammed shut. The sedan sped out of sight.
Lydia’s heart pounded against her chest. Her breath came in ragged gulps as she struggled to control the panic threatening to overpower her. Falling to her knees, she ignored the pouring rain, thinking only about the softness of the body pressed against her. She rubbed her hands over Tyler’s shoulders and down his back, wanting to touch every inch of him. She raked her fingers through his wet hair, pulled his head back to stare into his troubled blue eyes and then drew his trembling body even deeper into her embrace.
It had been seven months since her husband’s death and she had tried to pretend everything would get better. But it hadn’t. The pinpricks of fear that randomly tickled her neck weren’t her imagination. The footprints in the mud behind the apartment had been real. Someone had been watching…and waiting.
Why had the police chosen today to reopen the questioning about Sonny’s death? They had grilled her for hours until she demanded to be released to pick up her son from school. But her timing was off. Friday-afternoon traffic and she’d almost arrived too late.
Tyler looked at her, his eyes swollen with tears, his blond hair plastered against his round face. “He said he was a friend of Dad’s.”
Lightning slashed through the sky and thunder rolled across the empty school yard.
“It’s okay, honey,” she said, hoping her voice belied the terror that had taken hold of her.
A black Mercedes had tried to run Sonny off the road just days before his death. Now, someone driving the same make of car had attempted to grab Tyler. Without a doubt, the person or persons who killed her husband were also after her son.
But why? Because of the evidence Sonny had hidden? By taking Tyler did the murderers think they could get to her? Maybe convince her to turn over the names of the influential people involved in the corruption? Names she didn’t have. Information she’d never seen.
If only Sonny hadn’t been so secretive. So deceptive.
Lydia pulled in a deep breath as a surge of determination coursed through her veins. She had to protect her son. More than anything, she and Tyler needed a safe haven where they could hide—at least for a few days.
Only one place came to mind.
“Tyler, we’re going to Sanctuary Island.”
The night surrounded Lydia, dark as pitch and sinister as the man who had tried to grab her son earlier in the day. Wind howled through the tall Georgia pines and mixed with the roar of angry surf crashing upon the beach as Lydia steered her vehicle down the unlit path.
A flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the foreboding structure before her. Safe haven? The island home looked about as welcoming as a witch’s den with its deep recesses and dark shadows.
She braked the SUV to a stop and pushed open the driver’s door. Fog seeped from the sodden ground as she stepped into the damp night. The smell of musky earth and sea brine hung heavy in the air. Beside the house, a giant live oak stood guard. Draped in Spanish moss, its branches twisted skyward into oblivion.
“Stay in the car, Tyler.”
A pot of geraniums sat on the porch right where she’d been told. She shoved the heavy clay container aside. Groping with her hand across the wet brick, she found the key and folded scrap of paper before she returned to the circle of light falling from the open car door.
Tyler watched her, his brow wrinkled with more worry than a little boy should ever have to carry. Too much had happened too fast. After all these months of trying to get their lives back together, in one afternoon everything had fallen apart. Lydia would cry if she weren’t so tired. And scared.
Clutching the key, she unfolded the soggy paper Katherine had promised to leave with the security code and bent toward the light. Lydia’s stomach twisted into a hard knot. The rain had blurred the ink into an unreadable smudge. A rumble of thunder rolled through the night as if the storm was gathering strength for another onslaught.
“Come on, Tyler. Let’s get inside.”
The boy slid across the seat and dropped his feet onto the wet pavement. “I’m afraid.”
Lydia rubbed her hand across her son’s slender shoulders. She needed to be strong for Tyler.
“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s going to be fine.”
The wind died momentarily, but the sound of the ocean crashing on the shoreline continued. Lydia shivered as she stuck the key in the lock, turned it counterclockwise then pushed the door open. Darkness greeted her.
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.”
He parked the radio back on his belt. Lydia Sloan’s story was probably legit, but Matt needed confirmation from Ms. O’Connor before he allowed the woman and her son access to the home.
Too bad Ms. O’Connor hadn’t noted the arrival of guests on the paperwork. Would have made it so much easier.
“Okay, ma’am. We’ll go over to my office and wait till we hear from Ms. O’Connor.”
She bit her lip, blinked and looked like a scared rabbit in a trap. “I…I don’t understand why that’s necessary.”
“Yes, ma’am. I hear you. But it’s policy here on the island.” He stretched out a hand. “Now, if you’ll pass me the key, we’ll lock this place up tight as a drum so no one else decides to visit.”
“It’s late.” She looked at her son, then back at Matt. “We’ve been on the road for a long time. It’s past his bedtime.”
He nodded. “I understand. But we’ll head to my office, in spite of the hour. Wait for that phone call.”
The woman stooped down to the boy’s level. She tried to smile, made her voice sound almost lighthearted. “Okay, Tyler, we have to go with the security man.”
“Can I get my Action-Pac?”
She glanced up at Matt. “It’s a computerized game. It should be in the front seat of my SUV.”
Matt nodded. “That’ll be all right.”
He locked the door as they left and tried it once to ensure it held tight. Moonlight cascaded down the driveway. Maybe the storm had finally passed.
Tyler climbed into the SUV and retrieved a small electronic toy.
“Bring something to read,” Lydia said. “We may have to wait awhile.”
A school backpack lay on the seat. Tyler rummaged through it, then pulled out a book.
Matt watched the boy.
Other than the schoolbag, the car sat empty.
Why would a woman and her son, who claimed to be houseguests, arrive late at night with only the clothes on their backs?
Matt shook his head. It was going to be a long night.
Lydia sat next to Tyler in the front seat of the security chief’s pickup. The road stretched before them dark and desolate. The truck’s headlights cut a path through the night, exposing a roadway strewn with twigs and branches the storm had ripped from the tall pine trees.
Maybe coming to Sanctuary had been a mistake. She’d made too many already. Sonny, their marriage, believing God could turn bad times good….
Nothing had worked out the way she planned. She was too naive. Stupid, Sonny would have called it. But the fact was, she had trusted her husband. And she’d been hurt because of it. Worse than that, Tyler had been hurt.
Seeing her son’s pain was a hundred times worse than enduring it herself. No child should have to worry about someone grabbing him in the school parking lot or whether his mother would be the next to die.
She wrapped her arm around her son, pulled him close, then allowed herself to glance at the security man. The glow from the dashboard lights played across his long legs and muscular body.
She hoped to find a bit of softness in his angular face, but all she saw was determination. The guy was one hundred percent business with deep-set eyes that bore into her like a hot poker whenever he looked her way.