No Safe Harbor

Allison Winchester’s old Victorian house contains a valuable secret code, one that someone is dead set on uncovering. After her house is ransacked and her life is threatened, she has no choice but to accept the protection of injured ex-cop Blake Townsend. Allison never thought she’d trust a man with secrets again—and Blake is as much a mystery as the man who is stalking her. The lawman vows to shield her from the dangerous criminal. But can Blake and Allison decipher the mysterious code before their island safe haven becomes their ultimate resting place?

“What’s on the paper?”

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

“The one I overheard you mention. Where did it come from?”

Several seconds passed in silence. Finally Allison sighed. “The newel post in my house. I found it after the break-in. All it had on it was numbers and letters.”

“Any idea what they mean?”

“Not a clue.”

For the next several moments she didn’t meet his eyes. Blake was pretty sure she was telling the truth. But he was equally sure there was something she was keeping from him. He had to make her trust 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.”

CAROL J. POST

From medical secretary to court reporter to property manager to owner of a special events decorating company, Carol’s résumé reads like someone who doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up. But one thing that has remained constant through the years is her love for writing. She started as a child, writing poetry for family and friends, then graduated to articles, which actually made it into some religious and children’s publications. Several years ago (more than she’s willing to admit), she penned her first novel. In 2010, she decided to get serious about writing fiction for publication and joined Romance Writers of America, Tampa Area Romance Authors and Faith, Hope & Love, RWA’s online inspirational chapter. She has placed in numerous writing contests, including RWA’s 2012 Golden Heart®.

Carol lives in sunshiny central Florida with her husband (who is her own real-life hero) and writes her stories under the shade of the oaks in her yard. She holds a bachelor’s degree in business and professional leadership, which doesn’t contribute much to writing fiction but helps a whole lot in the business end of things. Besides writing, she works alongside her music minister husband singing and playing the piano. She also enjoys sailing, hiking, camping—almost anything outdoors. Her two grown daughters and grandson live too far away for her liking, so she now pours all that nurturing into taking care of three fat and sassy cats and one highly spoiled dog.

Shattered Haven

Carol J. Post

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.

—Matthew 11:28–30

First of all, I would like to thank all the wonderful people in Cedar Key who patiently answered my questions—Chief Virgil Sandlin of the Cedar Key Police Department, Chief Robert Robinson of the Cedar Key Fire Department, Debbie Smith of the Cedar Key Chamber of Commerce, Leslie Landress of the Harbour Master Suites and too many others to list. You’ve made researching this book a joy.

Thank you to my family for your encouragement and support and talking me up to all your friends.

To my critique partners, Karen Fleming, Dixie Taylor and Sabrina Jarema, for your valuable input and the great plotting and research weekends in Cedar Key. We managed to have lots of fun amid all the work.

To my awesome editor, Rachel Burkot, and my wonderful agent, Nalini Akolekar. You’re both the greatest!

And thank you to my husband, Chris. If I had it to do all over again, I’d still choose you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Allison Winchester lay stock-still, every muscle tight with apprehension.

Something had awoken her. A noise. Different from the usual creaks and groans of the old Victorian.

But all was quiet. Was it her imagination? The remnants of a dream?

She eased into a semi-upright position and propped herself on her elbows. A full moon cast its silver glow into the room, the lace curtains making shadowed patterns on the furnishings. The door was closed, her robe hanging from a hook on its back. Next to the bed, two shams and a half dozen throw pillows lay stacked in the upholstered chair with a stuffed Garfield perched on top. Everything was exactly as she had left it. A sliver of tension slid away.

Then it came again. A rattle. Like someone trying to jimmy a window. The tension ratcheted up again, and she lay frozen, ears straining in the silence that followed. When the rattle resumed, she had no doubt. Someone was trying to break into her house.

She sprang from the bed and snatched her cell phone from her purse. As she finished punching in the three numbers, the crash of breaking glass shattered the still night. Panic raced up her spine and settled in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Disjointed prayers circled through her mind, along with frantic commands—lock the door, hide, grab Tom’s gun. When she was finally able to breathe again, her ragged gasp echoed in the spacious room.

Then another sound registered—a calm female voice.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Someone’s in my house.” Her voice was a raspy whisper.

The dispatcher continued her soothing tone. “Help is on the way. I’m staying on the line until they arrive.”

Allison tiptoed to the door and silently turned the lock. Downstairs, heavy footsteps thudded against the polished hardwood floors. Her intruder wasn’t even trying to be quiet. She clutched the phone more tightly and pressed it against her ear, that soothing voice her lifeline to safety.

The footsteps hesitated, and for several moments, she forgot to breathe. Then a new noise shattered her already frayed nerves—the creak of the bottom step. Renewed panic spiraled through her. Lord, please help me.

“He’s coming upstairs.” Where were the police? What was taking them so long?

She drew in a shaky breath. Probably less than a minute had passed since she had first placed her call. But she wasn’t going to wait helplessly while a possible killer made his way toward her room.

She backed away, eyes still glued to the door. If he wanted to come in, the lock wouldn’t stop him. One solid kick, and the door frame would splinter. She propped the phone against her ear with one shoulder and opened her T-shirt drawer, cringing at the scrape of wood on wood. There hadn’t been any more creaks. Maybe he had abandoned his plans for coming upstairs. But she wasn’t taking a chance.

Her fingers scrabbled along the bottom of the drawer, reaching for what had lain untouched since she moved to Cedar Key two years ago. When her hand made contact with cold steel, trepidation warred with relief. Holding something so lethal just didn’t feel...safe. She had outgrown her youthful klutziness. But she still didn’t feel confident handling a weapon.

Now wasn’t the time for such reservations.

“I’m getting my gun.” She kept her voice low.

“Help is on the way. Just stay put.”

“Believe me, I will.” No way was she leaving the room. At least until the cops arrived and the intruder was cuffed.

She propped the phone against her shoulder and inserted the loaded clip, hands shaking. Then she waited, weapon trained on the door, her finger poised on the trigger.

According to Tom, the pink Glock was a perfect ladies’ gun. He’d bought it for her a month before he was killed, insisting she keep it with her. He’d even tried to teach her how to use it.

She should have paid more attention. But she hadn’t seen the need. She lived in an upper-class New England neighborhood, separated from the unsavory elements of society. And blind to the unscrupulous activities of her husband. Those same activities had left her a widow at age twenty-four. Tom had needed the gun worse than she had.

A siren sounded in the distance and screamed closer. Her breath spilled out in a relieved sigh. “They’re almost here.”

She moved to the side window and looked out over the small yard that lay along the west side of her house. She wouldn’t be able to see the police. But the reflection of flashing lights in the window of her neighbor’s bungalow would signal their arrival.

A second later, the siren stopped. A figure appeared from the back and charged across her side yard at a full run. Within moments, he had disappeared behind the hedge bordering her neighbor’s backyard.

She laid the weapon on the dresser, disconnected the call and grabbed her robe from the back of the door. The intruder was probably long gone, but she needed to tell the police what she saw. She hurried down the stairs, then crossed the small foyer.

As soon as she stepped onto her front porch, she stopped short. A Cedar Key police cruiser sat in her front yard. But the officer wasn’t alone. He had already apprehended the suspect. He had him pinned against the side of the car and was cuffing him.

She cinched the belt on her robe more tightly and started down the porch steps. The officer turned and nodded a greeting. It was Hunter Kingston. He had somehow managed to catch the intruder and drag him back to the cruiser before she could get down the stairs and out the door. Hunter was good, but she didn’t know he was that good.

He looked her up and down. “Are you all right?

“Yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t come upstairs. I’m guessing your siren scared him away.” She cast a glance at the suspect. “You can bet I won’t forget to set the alarm again.”

One edge of Hunter’s mouth turned up. He obviously recognized her comment for what it was—a threat to the intruder. She had never considered installing an alarm system, had never felt the need.

The stranger turned when she spoke. In the glow of the nearby streetlight, he was an imposing figure, even with his hands secured behind his back. A Guy Harvey T-shirt stretched taut over a muscular chest, and massive arms spoke of hours in the gym. With the close-cut hair, firm set of his jaw and sense of authority he exuded, he didn’t fit the image of a common burglar. He looked more like a military guy. Or a cop.

His eyes shifted from her back to Hunter. “What’s going on?”

“Someone broke into this lady’s house.”

“It wasn’t me. I already told you, I was chasing my dog.”

His tone was nonchalant, the concern she would expect to see absent. Either he had a lot of confidence in his ability to talk his way out of trouble, or he had been through enough arrests that the thought of spending some time in jail didn’t faze him.

Hunter didn’t appear to be buying his story. “At four a.m.?”

“Since three thirty, actually. He saw a cat and took off. I’ve chased him all over this side of Cedar Key.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Cedar Cove Marina, on my boat. I just arrived this afternoon.”

“I’m going to have to bring you in for questioning.” Hunter opened the back door of the cruiser and guided him around it.

Now the stranger’s eyes did fill with concern. “I need to find my dog. He’s a young Doberman, answers to Brinks. He won’t hurt anybody, but he’s probably halfway to the mainland by now.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for him.” Skepticism filled Hunter’s tone.

Allison pursed her lips. Something wasn’t right about the whole scenario. Hunter would have to be Flash to have covered that much ground by the time she made it outside. She couldn’t identify the intruder. Between the clouds obscuring the moon, the oak that shaded a good portion of her side yard and the distance from the streetlight, it was too dark.

But she knew where he had come from and which direction he had gone.

“Hunter, wait.” She held up a hand. “Where was he when you saw him?”

“I was coming down First Street, and he ran out from between your house and the one next door.” As Hunter spoke, he gestured with his right hand, tracing the path the suspect had taken.

It was all wrong. The intruder came from the opposite side of the house and went in a different direction. The stranger was telling the truth. And for some unexplained reason, she was glad.

“Hunter, we’ve got the wrong guy.”

His brows lifted in question, and she continued.

“I saw the intruder, just as you got here. He ran out from behind my house and went that way.” She lifted a hand, her index finger extended.

Before Hunter could respond, a Doberman came bounding toward them and skidded to a stop at the open door of the car. The dog put both front paws in the man’s lap and slathered slobbery kisses up one cheek, initiating peals of laughter.

“Now you decide to show up. You almost got me arrested.” Still laughing, he maneuvered to his feet. Not easy with two large paws in his lap and his hands cuffed behind his back. “No more jerky treats for you. At least till tomorrow.”

Hunter stepped behind him and inserted a key into the handcuffs. “Sorry about that. We don’t get many break-ins here. In fact, we don’t get any break-ins. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The stranger shot him a forgiving smile over one shoulder as the cuffs clicked open. “No problem. You were only doing your job. But I have to admit, this was my first time on this side of the handcuffs.” He clipped a leash onto the dog’s collar before extending his hand. “Blake Townsend, Dallas PD.”

Hunter’s brows shot up again. “You’ve got to be kidding. I was arresting a cop?”

“Former cop, actually. Injured on the job.” He turned toward Allison. “And you, milady, deserve a big thank-you for getting me out of hot water. I at least owe you dinner.”

The smile he gave her reached his eyes, creating fine lines at their corners. His manner was joking, but something told her he was dead serious about dinner. And she was suddenly hit with a case of teenage shyness. She reached to smooth her hair, then dropped her hand. Why bother? The first impression was already made—barefoot and bedhead. Not that it mattered.

She returned his smile with one that she hoped projected confidence. “That won’t be necessary. Your words were thank-you enough.”

He nodded, then looked at Hunter. “If you’re done with me, I’ll get Bozo here back to the boat. Next time you see us, he’ll be on a leash.” He frowned down at the dog who eyed him eagerly, tail nub wagging. One ear stood at attention, straight and sharp. The other made an attempt. But the top two inches flopped forward. The imperfection lent a comic element to his would-be ferociousness. “I think he needs obedience training. He’s usually a good dog, but when he sees a cat, his brain shuts down and he morphs into seventy pounds of pure, dumb instinct.”

He turned and started down the sidewalk, favoring his right leg. Probably the injury he’d mentioned. There was stiffness in his gait, as if he was trying hard to hide what should have been a pronounced limp after spending the last half hour chasing his dog.

A cop. She had him pegged right. Maybe she was getting better at reading people. It was about time.

When she returned her gaze to Hunter, he was grinning at her. “Checking out the newest Cedar Key resident?”

“Not like you’re thinking.” Her cheeks warmed in spite of her flippant response. Hunter was a good friend. They had a lot in common, right down to their determination to avoid serious relationships with the opposite sex. She didn’t know his reasons, but she knew her own. Serious relationships required trust, something in short supply lately, at least on her end.

“Let’s check out your place.” Hunter’s words cut across her thoughts. “We’ve got a breaking and entering to investigate.”

She squared her shoulders and started up the front walk, uneasiness descending on her with every step. Meeting the injured cop had been a nice reprieve. Now she had to face what she would find inside—a broken window, the possibility of items missing from her house.

And the end of the sense of security she had always known there.

* * *

Blake picked up a fifty-pound dumbbell and took a seat. The only gym on Cedar Key, Cedar Cove Fitness was well maintained and had everything he needed. And it was within walking distance of his boat. Of course, everything in Cedar Key was within walking distance of his boat.

After finishing his last set, he took a long swig from his water bottle. Tomorrow’s workout would be legs, a thought that brought a vague sense of dread. Recent months had given new meaning to the phrase No Pain, No Gain. He ran his hand over the five-inch scar that traveled from his lower thigh down to the top of his shin. All through rehab, he had maintained his upper-body workouts, so that part of his physique hadn’t suffered. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for his legs.

He slung his towel over his shoulder and moved toward the door. It was time for Brinks’s late-afternoon walk. The dog had been cooped up alone on the boat for the past two hours and was probably about stir crazy. But he wasn’t going out without a leash. Blake had learned his lesson. Good thing the lady had spoken up last night. Otherwise he might be cooling his heels in the Levy County Jail.

When he stepped onto the dock and approached his boat, a black-and-tan face appeared at one of the windows, and excited barking commenced. Maybe they could take a route that led past the lady’s house. He really wanted to check on her. After last night’s scare, she had looked so vulnerable, clad in her ankle-length robe, feet bare and hair mussed from sleeping. But what had really gotten to him was the fear that lingered in her eyes. It had made his protective instincts kick into overdrive.

He might catch her outside. If not, from what he had seen during his short time in Cedar Key, people were friendly. A knock on the door from a concerned resident likely wouldn’t seem inappropriate or creepy.

As he stepped onto his boat, his gaze drifted to the slips to his right, where a sleek white sailboat was moored. It was there when he arrived yesterday, but had disappeared by the time he returned from lunch. Now it was back, its captain still aboard. She stood in profile, holding a hose. A cone-shaped spray burst from its end, and she worked her way toward the bow with slow side-to-side motions. Once he got Brinks, maybe he would introduce himself.

When he stepped back off his boat, she had finished her spraying and was walking toward the cockpit, hose still in her hand. He moved closer, the raucous calls of seagulls accompanying his steps. Waves lapped against the pilings, and a gentle breeze rustled his clothes.

He waited to speak until she had stepped down onto the cockpit seat. “Good afternoon, sailor.”

She started and spun to face him, a sudden spray of water barely missing his feet. The fear in her eyes instantly turned to relief, and his own widened in surprise. Her blond hair was combed into a thick braid, and a Cedar Key boating hat cast her face in shadow, but he recognized her immediately. She was the same woman who had had the break-in.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was coming over to introduce myself, but we’ve already met.” Sort of. He still didn’t know her name.

She laid the hose on the deck and wiped her hand on her shorts before extending it. “We’ve met but haven’t been formally introduced. Allison Winchester.”

“Blake Townsend.” Of course, she already knew that. “And this is Brinks.”

“Like the security company?”

“Yeah, except in his case it’s more tongue-in-cheek. He’ll lick you to death.”

She laughed and extended her arm, palm down. After a quick sniff, Brinks slid his nose under her hand and gave a couple of pushes, encouraging a pat on the head. She complied with some much-loved scratching behind the ears.

“Have they figured out who broke into your house?”

“No, they haven’t.” She stepped back and began coiling lines and laying them neatly on the deck. “He broke a pane out of one of the library windows, turned the latch and came in that way. Hunter lifted prints, so we’ll see what comes back.”

“Did he take anything?”

“Not that I can tell. I think he got scared off. My car’s in the shop getting a new timing belt, so it wasn’t in its usual spot. He probably thought no one was home. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet.”

Blake leaned against one of the pilings and watched her while she worked. There was something about her that intrigued him. She was definitely pretty. She wore a button-up shirt, its tails tied in a loose knot at her waist, and shorts that stopped a little lower than midthigh. She was lithe and athletic, and even though it was late October, her skin still held a healthy golden glow from summer days spent in the sun.

But it wasn’t just her looks that sparked his interest. She possessed a down-to-earth sweetness that sucked him in. Moving about her boat and securing it for the night, she seemed so capable and sure of herself. But he couldn’t forget the fear he’d seen in her eyes in the early-morning hours. Or how on edge she’d been when he called out his greeting.

“Are you all right?”

Her eyes met his, and something flickered there, a brief flash of vulnerability. Then she resumed her work zipping the cover over the mainsail.

“Sure. Why?”

“Having your house broken into can be scary. If there’s anything I can do, you know where to find me.”

The smile she gave him lit her eyes. “Thanks.” She stepped onto the dock and checked the lines she had tied off previously, then straightened. “That’s it. Till tomorrow anyway.”

“Do you go out every day?” As toned as she was, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Not every day. Depends on if I’ve got charters.”

She started down the dock, and he fell in beside her, trying not to favor his right leg. Brinks walked ahead of them, straining at the leash, eager for his walk.

“So you’re a charter captain.”

“Yep. Mostly morning or afternoon excursions, with some day trips and the occasional multiday thrown in. If I do an overnight, I bring along a cook and crew mate. It’s a pretty enjoyable way to make a living.”

“That does sound like fun.” He scanned the parking area. “I assume your car’s still in the shop?”

“Yeah, but I usually walk anyway. It’s good exercise.”

“Do you mind if we walk with you? I’m past due for his afternoon jaunt, and he’s so excited, he can hardly stand it.” He nodded down at Brinks. His breathing was strained, restricted by the pressure he was putting on the collar. The crazy dog was half choking himself.

“Sure.” She glanced over at him. “Are you vacationing or here for an extended time?”

“Extended.” Although how extended was anybody’s guess.

“You said you’re a cop.”

They turned onto Dock Street, where an eclectic array of wooden buildings lined the water’s edge. Ahead, a series of bright blue stairs and landings led to Steamers Bar and Grill.

“I was a cop. Not anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll go back to it once your leg heals?”

So she had noticed. Either she was really observant, or he wasn’t as good at hiding the limp as he had thought. The total knee replacement was a success. The work on the thigh was another story. Reconstructing mincemeat was a bit more challenging.

He shook his head. “Too much permanent damage. I’ve got to be able to run as fast as the bad guys. This has slowed me down. I took seven hits.”

She flinched and offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. So what happened? Did you get caught in a shoot-out?”

“Something like that. I was working undercover. A drug buy went bad.”

Of course, there was more to it than that. But he wasn’t going to talk about it. Because if he didn’t talk about it, he would eventually quit thinking about it. Then maybe the nightmares would stop.

“They offered me a desk job, but I’m not a sit-at-a-desk kind of guy.”

She studied him. “I can see that. You seem the type that goes for the action. So what do you do, now that you’re not a cop anymore?”

“I’m still figuring that out. I went for my degree in criminal justice right after high school, and I’ve been a cop ever since. Thought I’d die a cop.” Almost did.

“So you’re in transition.”

“You could say that.”

“That’s okay, as long as you don’t stay there forever.”

She was right. And he wouldn’t. He had always been too driven to sit idle for long. Besides, eventually the insurance money would run out. But long before then, he’d have his head back on straight and be ready to resume the life he had left in Dallas. With a few adjustments.

They rounded the corner, and Allison’s eyes dipped to Brinks. “How often do you have to walk him?”

“Usually four times—when we get up, lunchtime, late afternoon and right before bed. Except this morning. For some reason, he decided at three thirty that he had to go out. Wouldn’t leave me alone. We went up on deck, and before I could get his leash on him, he saw the cat and bolted.”

“Brinks needs to work on his timing. A minute earlier, and you might have been in time to catch the bad guy.”

When they reached her driveway, she turned to face him. “Thanks for walking with me. I enjoyed your company.”

She was smiling, but something had changed. Her posture had stiffened, and her blue eyes had darkened with worry.

He looked past her to the colorful Victorian surrounded by a manicured yard. A polished oak door with stained-glass panels complemented the warm exterior. But inside, the house was cold and empty and silent. And she was walking in alone.

“Would you like me to go in with you? You know, check the windows and doors?”

She hesitated while indecision flashed across her features. Finally, she squared her shoulders and mustered a half smile. “That’s all right. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.” He drew his brows together as another thought crossed his mind. “The window’s been fixed, right?”

“Terrance did it this morning.”

“Terrance?”

“The kid at the marina. Stays on the Bayliner. He does odd jobs for people around town. You’ve probably met him.”

Yeah, he had. He was quiet and tattooed and walked around with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Blake didn’t know his past, but he had run up against his kind often enough to recognize what was behind that tough-guy facade—a lost kid, trying to prove he could make it without anybody’s help.

Blake watched Allison let herself into the house, then continued down the road. He hoped to see more of her. She was a fellow boater. Someone who loved the water as much as he did. And she was just an all-around nice person. He wasn’t looking for a romantic relationship, but if something developed, he wouldn’t be opposed. As long as it stayed casual.

Keep It Casual—that had been his lifelong motto. Except once. And he was still kicking himself.

Eighteen months ago, both his personal and professional lives took a nosedive. No, they did more than take a nosedive. They crashed and burned. And he’d been trying ever since to regain his equilibrium.

And all the while, Cedar Key beckoned. He had spent a week there every summer for five straight years. That was when he was a kid, and they were still a complete family—him, his mom, his dad and his little sister. Life was perfect then. His police detective dad was good at shielding them from the ugliness he saw every day.

Of all the memories he had of his father, vacations in Cedar Key were some of the best. So last week, he closed up his apartment in Dallas, loaded Brinks into his Explorer, hooked up the boat and made the trip to Galveston. While a friend drove the truck and trailer back home, he headed for Florida. Now he was in paradise, surrounded by the rolling sea, quiet sunsets, quaint shops and friendly people. Hopefully the laid-back atmosphere of Cedar Key would offer the peace and direction that had been missing from his life.

Because if he didn’t find it here...well, he just didn’t know where else to look.

TWO

Allison laid the book across her lap and looked at the clock hanging on the rose-hued wall. It was ten thirty. A half hour past her usual bedtime. She heaved a sigh. She was stalling, and she knew it.

Last night’s break-in had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. During the day, she had done well. First thing this morning, she’d called Terrance and he’d come right out to measure the window and make a list of what he needed. By eleven, the work was done—a new piece of glass installed and paint touched up where the intruder had tried to pry open the window.

The afternoon hadn’t been bad, either. With a charter that included three active young boys, she had had plenty to occupy her thoughts. But once her customers had headed back to their vacation cottage, all the distractions were gone. That was when the uneasiness started. She began to tackle her chores, and memories of the prior night surged forward. As the sun sank lower in the sky and darkness became an imminent threat, her tension mounted. Then Blake had called out his booming greeting six feet behind her, almost sending her into cardiac arrest.

But the walk home had been nice. There was something reassuring about having him next to her, Brinks in front. When he offered to go in first, she almost accepted his offer. Then she changed her mind. It was one random break-in. She would buck up and deal with it. She had certainly been through worse.

Learning that Tom had been murdered had knocked the foundation right out from under her. But his death had been just the beginning. Three nights later, two thugs had showed up—the kind of men who broke legs and threw people in the river in concrete boots. They’d been there to make sure she didn’t talk. But one couldn’t tell what one didn’t know. Apparently, they’d believed her, because they’d left her alone after that.

Over the next two months, her life slowly unraveled. The more the authorities delved into Tom’s death, the more they learned about his life. And it didn’t coincide at all with what she knew. Her Tom was a detective, honest and hardworking. He even moonlighted as a security guard for one of the wealthy Providence families. The Tom the investigation uncovered was a dirty cop owned by the mob. The honorable man she thought she had married didn’t exist.

No, after all she went through two and a half years ago, she wouldn’t let anything steal the peace she had found on Cedar Key. She pushed herself up from the couch and bent to turn off the lamp. With Blake at her side, shaking off the effects of the break-in had been easy. Now, in the dark, while most of the neighborhood slept, it was a little more difficult.

Maybe she should get a dog. A dog would alert her if someone tried to come into the house. And a deep, threatening growl would likely stop an intruder before he even got that far. Yeah, and what would she do with a dog while she was on the boat? A lot of customers would have a problem with a canine guest.

Maybe an alarm. An alarm wouldn’t have to be taken out and walked. It wouldn’t eat much, either.

She sighed and started up the stairs, resting her hand against the bronze angel that stood poised atop the newel post. The angel had been there when she bought the house, and although she had completely renovated the old Victorian, it had remained a permanent fixture. Bronze eyes stared straight ahead, serene but alert, as if watching over the house, guarding the front door.

Except now she wasn’t facing the door straight on, more like she was guarding the sidelight. Had the angel always been slightly turned? Why hadn’t she noticed?

She cupped its back, slipping her fingers between the bronze wings. The chill that had passed over her the night of the break-in crept along her skin again. Did her intruder try to remove the angel from the newel post? No. With all the valuables in the house, and her iPad and laptop in plain view, the intruder wasn’t likely after a bronze finial.

She dismissed the thought and tried to straighten the angel, not really expecting it to move. It did. She twisted it back and forth, pulling upward. The angel didn’t come off, but the tugging was creating a small gap in the seam between the top of the post and its sides. Was it supposed to come apart?

She strode to the kitchen and returned with a table knife, then worked her way along the seam on all four sides. The top wasn’t nailed to the post. In fact, there didn’t seem to be anything holding the two pieces together except countless coats of varnish and decades of swelling in Florida’s relentless humidity. She continued to pry, her pulse racing as the gap widened.

Finally the top came loose from the post. She turned it over, checking the underside. A bolt ran through the wood and into the finial, holding the two pieces together. When her gaze moved to the newel post, anticipation coursed through her. It was hollow, its interior hidden in shadow.

She hurried to the foyer closet to retrieve a flashlight, her heart pounding in earnest. Was something of value hidden inside the secret compartment? Was that what her intruder was after?

When she returned to the staircase, she shined the light into the opening. About eight inches down was a thick roll of yellowed paper about two and a half feet long, judging from the height of the post. Blueprint size. She slid it out and began to uncoil it. Just what she suspected—house plans.

Without fully unrolling them, she laid them aside, and they curled back into the shape they had maintained for the past hundred years.

Surely the secret compartment held something more interesting than house plans. But when she shined the light into the opening again, the beam revealed smooth, hard wood, all the way to the bottom. The compartment was empty.

She sank to the bottom step and rested her chin in her hands, elbows propped against her knees. Maybe her intruder wasn’t trying to get into the newel post.

Then why had he tampered with the finial? It hadn’t been turned accidentally. All the times she had gone up and down those steps, the angel had never moved.

No, he had broken into the house with plans to retrieve something from that secret compartment. He just hadn’t anticipated her being there and the police arriving before he could remove the top.

Which meant he would be back.

The uneasiness she had struggled to keep at bay for the past twenty hours intensified, and she cast a worried glance at the front door. It was locked. So were all the windows. She had checked.

Of course, everything had been locked up last night, too. And that hadn’t stopped him.

Well, if he did come back, he would be disappointed...unless he had a fascination with old house plans. She frowned at the thick roll of yellowed papers lying on the hardwood floor. They were an interesting find. She would have appreciated them under other circumstances. Now she just wanted to know why someone had broken into her house, and a set of ancient house plans wasn’t doing anything to help her figure that out.

She knelt next to them and unrolled them fully to find the bound edge, planning to roll them more tightly. She may as well put them back where she found them. But as soon as she reached the inside edge, a smaller page sprang loose from the bound ones.

It was a single sheet, eight and a half by eleven, unlined. Like copy paper. Except it was old. Or maybe it had just gotten wet. The page was crinkled and unevenly yellow. Three lines had been scrawled across the front—each beginning with a letter followed by a series of numbers. Whatever it meant, it probably had nothing to do with the house.

The old Victorian had been in her family for most of the past seventy years. It had gone from her grandparents to her aunt to her cousin. Then to the investor who snapped it up from the courthouse steps five years ago, after her cousin stopped paying the property taxes. He had probably planned to hold on to it until the housing market turned around. But Allison’s cash offer persuaded him to change his mind.

So who did the paper belong to? It wasn’t the investor. According to the neighbors, he had bought the house, then let it sit empty. Which meant her family had put it there. What did they have that they didn’t want anyone to know about? Money? Gold? Pirate treasure?

Yeah, right. Cedar Key had never been a pirate hideout. Besides, if her grandparents had happened onto anything like that, there would be stories. Small towns were known for their gossip. Cedar Key was no different. Of all the tales about her grandparents that circulated around town, not one gave any hint of hidden treasure.

Allison pushed herself to her feet and strode toward the kitchen. What if the numbers were clues to an unsolved crime, a way for her grandparents to get a bad deed off their consciences before they died? What if she solved the puzzle and found a body?

No, her grandparents were a little odd—okay, from the stories her parents told, they were certifiably nuts—but they weren’t killers.

Of course, she didn’t have firsthand knowledge. Ties had been pretty much severed between her parents and her dad’s side of the family long before she was born. Her dad had gone to law school instead of taking over the Winchester clamming business, and his parents never forgave him. Then marrying a New Englander sealed his fate.

On two occasions, her parents had tried to mend the rift between the elder and younger Winchesters and made the trip to Cedar Key. The rift-mending excursions were a total failure. But on those two brief trips, Allison fell in love with the place. When her life in Providence unraveled, Cedar Key seemed the perfect location to start over.

She flipped the switch on her way into the kitchen and flattened the paper against the butcher block island. Light poured from the four inverted globes of the Albany chandelier. But the random letters and numbers didn’t make any more sense there than they had in the dimness of the foyer.

She squinted at the characters scrawled across the page. They were written with a heavy hand, and judging from the sloppiness, jotted down in a hurry:

R45 87

G45 165

R2.55 282

It looked to be some kind of code. But for what? The numbers weren’t coordinates. The forty-fifth parallel ran across the northern states, and neither latitude nor longitude went as high as 282.

She stared at the page, trying to think outside the box. But the harder she focused, the more she drew a blank. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, the answer would come. If not, she would keep working on it.

As odd as her grandparents had been, they were well liked on Cedar Key. And since Allison had taken back her maiden name and was once again a Winchester herself, it had given her an instant “in.” People still spoke fondly of her grandparents, even though they had been gone for years. But maybe they had harbored some secrets. Maybe there were skeletons in the Winchester closet.

Whatever it was, someone apparently knew. If there was something of value that belonged to her family, no outsider was going to take it away from her.

And then there was the other possibility, that the clues would lead to some kind of contraband...or worse. A knot of dread settled in her stomach. The news would travel fast, from one end of Cedar Key to the other. She knew how it worked. She had experienced it all—the sideways glances, the hushed conversations that came to an abrupt halt, the people suddenly too busy for her, people she had thought were her friends.

She folded the paper and slid it into her purse. She needed to find a better hiding place. Contraband or treasure, someone had apparently found out and come to claim it.

Well, he could look all he wanted. She had the clues. And she was determined to get to it first.

* * *

Blake sat on the deck of his Sea Ray, a glass of green tea in one hand and a Sharpie in the other, the latest issue of the Cedar Key Beacon open on his lap. Brinks lay stretched out in the sunshine, attached to a spare dock line. In another hour, it would be time to walk him again. Maybe by then Allison would be back, and he could combine the dog’s afternoon walk with her trip home. Brinks was great company, but conversation was a little lacking.

Early that morning, he had gone fishing and caught his dinner for the next few evenings. At least, the protein portion of it. Then he had walked Brinks and gone to the gym. After that was a call to his mom. He had already been the cause of enough sleepless nights. He didn’t want to compound her worries by not staying in touch.

He drew in a deep breath and leaned back in the seat. Eventually, boredom was going to set in. Even back home, with physical therapy and vocational rehab and the teaching certification classes the work comp carrier had put him through, there was still too much downtime, not enough activity to work off the energy coiled inside. Tough sessions at the gym helped. But they weren’t the same as rock climbing with his buddies. Or zig-zagging down Vail’s black-diamond slopes.

He looked up from his reading to scan the horizon. Two sailboats cut through the waves, but neither were Allison’s. When he turned back toward Cedar Cove Beach and Yacht Club, the kid he had met yesterday was making his way down the dock in flip-flops, an Old Navy shirt and a pair of plaid shorts fastened a good six inches below his waist.

Blake called out a greeting, and the kid responded with a wave. But instead of boarding the old Bayliner Cuddy, he approached, moving with that cocky swagger so prominent among teens and twentysomethings nowadays. He leaned against the nearest piling. “You staying in Cedar Key awhile?”

“For the time being. Why?”

“I do odd jobs. You need any work done, let me know. Name’s Terrance.” He took a swig of the Budweiser in his hand. Apparently he was at least twenty-one. Or someone was selling alcohol to minors.

“Will do. I heard you replaced a window for Allison yesterday.”

“Yeah.” He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. “Her house got broken into. I hope they catch the guy.”

Terrance turned to go, but Blake stopped him. “Speaking of Allison, did you see her leave this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she happen to say what time she was coming back?”

“Four.”

A little early for Brinks’s walk, but Brinks wouldn’t mind.

Terrance lifted his beer in farewell then headed to his boat. With a cabin just big enough for a berth and toilet, the Bayliner Cuddy was built for the occasional overnight, not living aboard. But Terrance didn’t seem to mind. He was independent and supporting himself. That was probably all that mattered.

Blake closed the paper and capped the Sharpie. He could spend only so many hours fishing, reading and exploring. So that was why he had circled two job postings in the classified section. A third he had looked at briefly, then decided to pass. Cedar Key Auto was looking for a mechanic. He was okay, but not good. Actually, when it came to gainful employment, he was okay at a lot of things—jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Except police work. That he was good at.

Monday he would make the two phone calls. One was The Market at Cedar Key, twenty hours a week cleaning and stocking. The other was grounds work for a landscaping outfit, also part-time. He wouldn’t apply for anything that required extensive training. It wouldn’t be fair to his potential employer.

As expected, Allison’s boat came into view at twenty till four. By four o’clock, she had docked and was telling her charter customers goodbye. Blake stood to take the newspaper and empty glass below and don some tennis shoes. By the time he had traded Brinks’s restraint for a real leash and stepped onto the dock, Allison had finished hosing down her boat.

“So how was the charter?”

“Perfect. This is my favorite time of year.”

“Mine, too.” His gaze swept the length of the hull and came to rest on some simple turquoise script. “Tranquility. Very fitting name. She’s beautiful.”

She looked up from her chores and flashed him a smile. “Thanks.”

He watched her while she finished her end-of-the-day routine. “I’m going to be heading out to take Brinks for a walk, but I can take a different route. I don’t want you to think I’m stalking you.”

“That’s all right. The company’s kind of nice.” She stepped off the boat and grinned up at him. “I’ll let you know when I get tired of you.”

He started down the dock next to her. “Do you have any charters tomorrow?”

“No. I try to take Sundays off. At least Sunday mornings.”

“It’s nice to sleep in every so often.”

A gust of wind swept through and whipped her hair into her face. Several strands had come loose from the braid during her time on the water. She reached up to tuck them behind her ear.

“Actually, that’s not it. I’m an early riser. Can’t sleep past sunup regardless. But Sunday morning I’m usually in church, singing in the worship ensemble.”

“You sail and you sing. Any other talents I don’t know about?”

“No, that’s pretty much it. My parents tried piano lessons, too, but I didn’t take to them like the voice lessons.”

He nodded. Somehow the singing didn’t surprise him. Her voice held an almost mesmerizing quality, a smooth, low timbre that slid over him like fine silk.

“If you’d like to go, I’ll be happy to pick you up.”

Church? He hadn’t been since age sixteen, when he decided he didn’t need some stuffy old man in a robe telling him how to live his life. “I’ll have to pass. I’ve got some things to do.” He wasn’t sure what, but he’d think of something.

When they reached her house, he walked with her to the door, where she stopped to give Brinks some brisk scratches on the neck and throat. Her eyes sparkled, the uneasiness he had seen yesterday gone. Finally, she straightened to give him a parting smile.

“I’ll see you around.”

As soon as she had unlocked and opened the door, he turned to head back to the street. But her startled gasp stopped him midstride. He spun toward her, and his stomach went into a free fall. Her face was three shades lighter than it had been moments ago, and her eyes were wide with fear.

He took two quick steps forward. “What is it?”

“Someone’s been in the house.”

“Are you sure?” He stepped past her into the foyer and immediately answered his own question. The top had been removed from the first stair post and was lying on the foyer floor. To the right, an open double doorway framed scattered brocade pillows. A roll of what looked like house plans had been slung against a sofa leg. Dog-eared pages curled into haphazard rolls on the polished oak floor, partially hidden by one of the sofa seat cushions.

He turned toward Allison, a sense of protectiveness surging up inside him. He couldn’t help it. It was his police training. Once a cop, always a cop. Being unable to do the job didn’t take away those instincts.

Allison stood in the doorway, phone in hand, calling nine-one-one. He stepped back outside, and within minutes, a Cedar Key police cruiser stopped at the curb, siren silenced. The lights remained flashing. It was Hunter, the same cop who had cuffed him early yesterday morning. The officer’s eyes shifted from him to Allison and then back to him. The question in his gaze was probably about more than just the call.

Hunter stepped onto the porch and addressed Allison. “Another break-in?”

“Seems that way. Maybe it’s time I install an alarm.”

Blake looked at her sharply. “You don’t have one? I thought you said you did.” In fact, he knew that was what she had said. Early yesterday morning, when Hunter had him pinned against the cruiser.

A grin climbed up her cheeks. “I didn’t say I had an alarm. I just said I wouldn’t forget to set it.”

He matched her smile with one of his own. “You just wanted me to think you had one.”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Just in case.” She motioned Hunter inside. “I don’t know how bad it is. I didn’t go past the front doorway.”

Blake started to follow, then hesitated. It wasn’t his case. He wasn’t even a cop anymore. He was a civilian getting ready to walk into a woman’s house uninvited. He cast a glance at Allison. “Is it all right if I go in?”

“Sure. Another set of trained eyes can’t hurt.”

Hunter stopped in the doorway of the living room. “Since all the cushions are off the furniture, I’m guessing he was looking for something.” He made a slow circle through the room, then pointed at the floor. “Are those house plans?”

“Yeah.” Allison led him back into the foyer. “The night after the first break-in, I noticed that this finial was crooked. Then I discovered the post is hollow. The house plans were inside.” She started to rest her hand on top of the newel post, then drew back. She wouldn’t touch anything until after they finished investigating.

Hunter nodded. “They sometimes did that with these old Victorians, hid the house plans in a secret compartment in the newel post.”

Blake raised his brows. That was an interesting tidbit.

Allison was apparently as intrigued as he was. “You’ve heard of this?”

Hunter flashed her a sheepish smile. “My little sister went through a stage where she was nuts over any and all things Victorian. She collected trinkets, played dress-up in period clothes and read everything she could get her hands on. And I learned all kinds of worthless information that I’ll probably never use, because she never shut up about it.”

She returned his smile. “Well, it didn’t turn out to be totally worthless, because you just taught me something. Now when I go into a Victorian house, I’ll always wonder what might be hidden in the newel post.” She chewed her lower lip, suddenly serious. “If the intruder was hoping for treasure, he probably wasn’t too happy to find nothing but a roll of old house plans.”

Which means he might be back. She didn’t finish the sentence aloud, but she was thinking it. It was all there in her eyes. The fear and uncertainty.

Hunter stroked his chin with a thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. “Seems if he was just hoping for something in the newel post, he wouldn’t have searched any further. It’s as if he knew exactly what he was looking for.”

He moved across the foyer toward the den. When he pushed open one of the double doors, Allison drew in a sharp breath. Blake looked over Hunter’s shoulder and understood. It looked as if every file had been removed from the file cabinet, the contents emptied.

“Whoa.” Hunter turned to face her. “I’d say he was pretty determined to find something.”

Allison didn’t respond. Blake studied her. Maybe she was just dazed. But something told him she knew more than she was telling them.

Hunter continued his walk through the house, getting an overview before the real investigation started. When he swung open one of two mahogany doors next to the kitchen, a low whistle escaped his mouth. Blake stepped into the room, and the dusty scent of old books wrapped around him, mixed with the smell of varnish.

It was a library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined three walls. But they were all empty. Teetering piles of books lay on the two stuffed chairs and all over the floor. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds.

“This is a pretty impressive library you have here.”

Allison nodded. “It is. At least it was. The fiction was all arranged by author last name, the nonfiction categorized and labeled according to the Dewey Decimal System. But I can’t take the credit. This was my grandparents’ collection. Even though there have been a couple of owners in between, apparently no one has been able to part with the books.”

Hunter stepped up next to him. “Are we ready to tackle this mess?”

Excitement swept through him. This was what he was made for—police work.

“Deputize me, and I’m all yours.”

THREE

Allison watched the two officers work their way through her house. Hunter looked sharp and professional in his crisp navy pants and light blue polo shirt, embroidered with Cedar Key Police Department. He moved with confidence, dusting doorjambs and other surfaces, lifting prints and making note of each location.

In khaki cargo shorts and a sailboat print shirt, Blake wasn’t dressed for the part, but everything else about him said cop. His dark eyes were alert as he scanned each room, and he exuded a sense of seriousness and concentrated focus. But there was something else, too—excitement and anticipation. Police work had been his life. Now she understood the fulfillment he had gained from his work. And the trauma of having it ripped from him. A pang of tenderness shot through her. Total upheaval—she had been there.

As the two men moved toward the dining room, Blake’s limp appeared more pronounced than usual. He was apparently too focused on the investigation to think about trying to hide it. He circled the room, his gaze settling briefly on each item out of place. A pinkish-tan scar extended a couple of inches below the hem of his shorts, visible proof of the injury that had ended his career. It was the only visible proof. His sun-kissed, muscular arms were...perfect. He obviously hadn’t spent his recuperating months sitting idle.

Without warning, those observant dark eyes met hers, and heat crept up her cheeks. He responded with a knowing smile, which only made it worse. Her gaze shifted to where Hunter stood dusting the open door of her china cabinet. They still had the library to do. And then the whole second floor.

“Check this out.”

Blake’s words cut across her thoughts. They were probably directed at Hunter, but she moved closer to see what he had found. When he spoke again, his question was for her.

“Did you remove the screen from this window?”

She stepped up next to him. The window was on the side of the house, blocked from the view of the street by one of her moss-draped live oaks. Now that Blake had pointed it out, she saw it, too—the screen was gone.

“No, I didn’t.” She put her face close to the glass. Lying on the ground next to the house was the missing screen. “In fact, I just mowed two days ago. I may not have noticed it missing from the window, but I know for a fact it wasn’t lying on the ground.”

Hunter joined them. He hadn’t made it to that side of the room yet. “Do you think this is where he gained access?”

With latex-covered hands, Blake gripped the edges of the handle and slid the window upward in its track. “I’d say that’s a definite.”

“But how...” She let the words trail off. It had been locked. She had checked.

In answer, Blake lowered the window and turned the latch. It barely made contact. “A little jimmying, and this would rattle right out of here. We need to look at installing some new locks.”

She nodded and swallowed hard, a sudden sense of vulnerability sweeping through her. She would get some new locks installed. ASAP.

Blake had said we. But she always paid her way. She would hire Terrance. Or maybe do it herself. Installing window glass was beyond her level of expertise, but she could change latches, even if she had to drill holes. Over the past two years, she had acquired several new skills. And quite a few tools. And a good dose of independence.

Boarding her boat and heading for Cedar Key alone was the scariest thing she had ever done. So was taking a good chunk of the life insurance money Tom had left and purchasing the house. But staying in Providence hadn’t been an option. Neither had going back to Boston to accept help from her parents. She didn’t need to hear I told you so.

So she summoned a strength she hadn’t known she had, sold most of her belongings and headed for Florida. The strength had apparently been there all along. She had just never needed it before.

She nodded at Blake. “New locks. That’s a project for tomorrow.”

Hunter finished processing the area, and they stepped from the room. At least there hadn’t been much stuff out in the dining room. Napkins and place mats had been removed from the buffet and lay scattered about the table. But except for some china being shifted around, the mahogany hutch was pretty much as she had left it. The rest of the house was the problem. She was going to spend the next month getting everything cleaned up, reorganized and put back where it belonged.

How had she accumulated so much in two short years? She had left Rhode Island with nothing but her boat, then bought a used car and golf cart. Now she was the proud owner of a newly restored 1880s Victorian and surrounded by stuff. She knew exactly where it had come from. And it was Darci’s fault. Allison met her her first week in Cedar Key, and they became fast friends. Then Darci got her hooked on yard sales, estate sales and consignment shops. Now, two years later, the place was fully furnished, her wardrobe rebuilt and her personal belongings restocked. And then some. Bargain hunting had proven to be addictive.

“Ready to tackle the upstairs?”

The question came from Hunter.

Blake gave a mock salute. “Ready when you are. You’re the boss.”

Allison followed them. The guest room wouldn’t be bad. There wasn’t much in there. Her bedroom...that was another story. She dreaded the sight—everything dragged out of her closet, drawers emptied onto the floor. Unmentionables strewn about the room.

And Blake walking through everything.

No. That was where she was drawing the line.

As Hunter entered the room, she stepped in front of Blake and planted her palm against his muscled chest.

“Stop right there.”

He looked at her with raised brows but didn’t respond.

“You’re not going into my bedroom.”

“Why not?” The corner of his mouth quirked, as if he was trying to stifle a grin.

“Because I said so.” She made a shooing motion with both hands. “Go investigate the guest room or something.”

He didn’t bother to hide his mirth now. He threw back his head and laughed, a hearty belly laugh, then gave another mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She watched him disappear into the bedroom at the end of the hall, then steeled herself for what she would find in hers.

It was every bit as bad as she had expected. She circled through the room, stepping around the items scattered about. The mattress had apparently been picked up and dropped back down. It was hanging over one side of the box spring by six inches. Her closet was cleared out, her dresser drawers empty except for Tom’s Glock.

She moved to the dresser and opened the antique jewelry box. Nothing appeared disturbed. A small sense of relief filtered through the dread, a sliver of light in the darkness.

She turned to find Hunter watching her. “Is it all there?”

“Looks like it.”

He frowned. “He left your jewelry and the Glock. This isn’t the work of an ordinary burglar.”

No, it wasn’t. Her intruder was interested in only one thing. And she needed to tell someone.

Her gaze locked with Hunter’s, and in that moment, she made her decision. Regardless of what they might find, Hunter wouldn’t hold it against her. And he wouldn’t tell anyone. In the two years she had known him, he had done nothing but gain her respect. He was honest, hardworking and compassionate. He was even active in church—taught a middle-school boys’ Sunday School class.

Her cautious trust didn’t extend to Blake. He seemed all right. More than all right. But she had thought Tom was all right, too.

“I think I know what they were looking for.” She spoke the words in a whisper. “I’m giving you something, but I don’t want Blake to see it. I don’t want anyone to know but you and Chief Sandlin.”

His gaze was filled with unspoken questions. “O-kay.”

“I guess the other Cedar Key officers are okay, too.” But the fewer people that knew, the better. At least until she deciphered the clues. She pulled the paper from her purse and handed it to him. She didn’t need to copy the information down. She had read it so many times she had it memorized. “I found this rolled up with the house plans in the newel post.”

“R45 87, G45 165, R2.55 282.” His gaze met hers. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. I think my grandparents hid something. And until I know what it is, I don’t want word of this getting out.”

He gave a brusque nod. “Agreed.”

As he refolded the sheet and slid it into his shirt pocket, relief washed through her. Whatever was significant about that information, the intruder was determined to get his hands on it. Since he had failed again, she probably hadn’t seen the last of him. As long as she held on to that paper, she wasn’t safe.

When she walked the two men out twenty minutes later, Hunter left, but Blake hung back. He leaned against one of the posts supporting her porch roof. “Are you going to be okay? I’ll be happy to change some window latches if you tell me where I can get them.”

Her eyes met his. The concern she saw there threatened to turn her into a puddle of mush on the newly painted porch floor.

She shook off the effect and squared her shoulders. “I’ll be fine. I’ll have Terrance do it. Or I might get a wild hair and do it myself.”

He nodded. “And the clean-up, if you don’t want to face all that alone, you know where to find me.”

She gave him a shaky smile. It was nice of him to offer, but having him help her put all her personal belongings away seemed too intimate.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Two break-ins in one week seems a little excessive.” The words weren’t phrased as a question. But it was there all the same. He was interrogating her with his eyes.

She shrugged off his penetrating gaze. She didn’t owe him any explanations. “I guess there isn’t anywhere exempt from crime, even Cedar Key.”

“That’s true. But this isn’t your run-of-the-mill burglar. Any idea what he’s looking for?”

It was the same question Hunter had asked. But something in Blake’s tone raised her hackles. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I’m not into anything illegal.”

He didn’t respond, but continued to study her. She knew that look. She had seen it often enough—narrowed gaze, head angled slightly away, mouth set in a barely perceptible frown. Suspicion. Disapproval.

A dark cloud settled over her. She had escaped all that when she boarded her sailboat and fled Providence—the suspicious glances, the relentless questioning by police. It didn’t matter that she was innocent, that she had gone about her pampered life, blissfully ignorant of her husband’s activities. She was guilty by association.

Would it be the same in Cedar Key? If the clues led to something illegal, some kind of contraband or dirty family secret, would she once again find herself an outcast, shunned by society?

Maybe her intruder knew that. Maybe he planned to blackmail her with the information. Or worse yet, pin something incriminating on her.

With all she had been through, nothing was out of the realm of possibility.

* * *

Blake stared at the fiberglass ceiling two and a half feet above where he lay. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a deep-toned backdrop to the lapping of water against the hull. A muted flickering filled the eastern sky.

But it wasn’t the approaching storm keeping him awake. It was thoughts of Allison. He was having a hard time figuring her out. She had a sweet air of innocence about her, a wholesome, girl-next-door quality.

But she was holding back. She knew what the intruder was after. And for some reason, she didn’t want to tell anyone. Although Hunter didn’t press, he did. And she instantly bristled. He wished he had gone about it differently. Because now there seemed to be an invisible wall between them, the tentative camaraderie they had built over the past two days strained.

What had she gotten involved in, and why wouldn’t she talk to him? Had she taken something, and someone was determined to get it back? No, whatever Allison was, she wasn’t a thief.

Maybe she was holding on to something with blackmail in mind. But that didn’t sound like Allison, either. There was nothing cunning or deceitful about her. Whatever trouble she had found, she probably hadn’t been looking for it. And now she was in over her head.

And she was scared. No matter how she tried to hide it, fear glistened in those clear blue eyes, along with an underlying vulnerability that just about made him come undone.

He heaved a sigh and turned on his left side to massage his right leg and knee. The berth was fairly comfortable. But bad weather made everything ache. That was something he had learned to live with. He refused to feel sorry for himself. The dull ache brought on by changes in barometric pressure was nothing compared to the agony he’d endured during the weeks following his injury—the multiple surgeries, the powerful antibiotic injections when infection set in and he almost lost his leg, and the weeks of intensive physical therapy once he was on the mend.

He rolled onto his back, once again stretching out. Helping the Cedar Key cop with his investigation had been good. Actually, it had been downright exhilarating. He snickered, breaking the relative silence of the cabin. No, walking into a drug king’s lair and posing as a big-time dealer had been exhilarating. Working a simple B&E was not. Thinking it was meant that he’d been away from police work too long.

Maybe he should consider going back. He had progressed far beyond his doctor’s best prognosis. Of course, he’d also pushed himself harder than what any sane human being would. But the result had been worth it. He’d gotten most of his strength back and was left with just a limp. And a lot of scarring. And a leg that didn’t quite work the way it was supposed to.

But there were options other than desk work. Maybe investigations. Something a little less intense than narcotics. But whatever he did, he would have to be willing to carry a gun.

And use it.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories trying to barrel forward. Internal Affairs had cleared him. Said it wasn’t his fault.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to clear himself.

He sat up and scooted to the end of the berth to rest his feet on the floor and met a sleek, furry body. Within seconds, Brinks was wide-awake and standing. Great. Now he would think it was time for a walk. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. It might help him clear his head.

He retrieved Brinks’s leash from the counter in the small galley area and lifted his gaze to the wide, squat window. It offered a good view of the eastern sky, where the light show continued. Heavy cloud cover obscured the jagged streaks, which displayed in a rapid series of flashes that spanned the horizon. The storm was a long way off. It might miss Cedar Key altogether.

He slipped a T-shirt over his head and clipped the dog’s leash to his collar. After snagging his tennis shoes from the floor, he headed up the companionway stairs, Brinks in the lead. Almost immediately, he was hit with a cool, salt-scented breeze. Boats rocked gently at their moorings, the rigging on the two sailboats making a soft clanging. Masts rose skyward, one a good ten feet taller than the other one. That would be Tranquility, Allison’s boat.

He slipped a bare foot into one shoe, then let his gaze slide upward again, toward where he knew Tranquility rested. The boat itself was hidden from view by the MasterCraft in the next slip, but the mast stood out against the charcoal-gray sky. It swayed back and forth, moving with the gently rolling sea.

Suddenly he tensed, his back ramrod straight. From his angle, looking abeam, it was hard to tell. But the mast had just seemed to dip away from him, as if someone had climbed aboard. Was Allison out here in the middle of the night? Somehow he doubted it.

He slipped on his other shoe and yanked the laces tight, then tied Brinks off to a cleat. If there really was an intruder out there, a trained canine would be an asset. Brinks would get in his way. Or lead him on another middle-of-the-night chase.

As soon as he stepped onto the dock, he knew. Someone hadn’t just boarded Tranquility. He had gotten off. A crouched figure moved silently up the short span of dock that ran beside the boat. When he reached the main dock, he glanced back, straightened to his full height and ran toward the marina.

Blake shot off after him. Nine chances out of ten, he was the same guy who had broken into Allison’s house. Twice. If he could catch him, he could put an end to her ordeal. And maybe find out what she had to hide.

He reached the end of the dock, rounded the side of the Cedar Key Beach and Yacht Club and pounded across the asphalt. The distance between him and the intruder was expanding. The creep was losing him. He was going to get away.

Not if he had anything to say about it. He pushed himself harder, giving it all he had, forcing his leg to function the way it was supposed to. The dull ache intensified, becoming a burn, then a stabbing pain.

Too late, he realized that his center of gravity was no longer over his feet. He was toppling forward, his struggling leg unable to keep up. He thrust his hands outward and, a fraction of a second before hitting the pavement, twisted sideways to protect his knee.

He landed on his left leg and arm, skidding several inches before coming to a stop. For some time, he lay there, taking inventory. Nothing seemed to be broken. And his right leg didn’t hurt any more than it normally did. He slowly sat up, and that’s when the stinging throb started. His entire left side was on fire. He turned his hand over to examine it in the light of the nearby streetlamp. From palm to elbow, he was scraped and bleeding. The side of his left leg looked the same, with bits of gravel mixed with the blood.

He rose to his feet and stumbled back to the dock. There was no sense in pursuing the chase. Allison’s intruder was gone. Tomorrow he would have to tell her. He had seen the creep sneaking away from her boat and given chase.

And he fell.

Embarrassment washed over him. What kind of cop was he? Couldn’t even chase a criminal and stay on his feet.

What kind of man was he?

He stepped onto his boat, untied Brinks then coaxed him back down the companionway steps with the promise of jerky treats. The walk no longer had appeal. Brinks could wait till morning. He would call nine-one-one, then doctor his wounds. And leave the police work to those more capable.

A few hours ago, he was thinking of going back. It was nothing but an impossible dream. He had lost his edge. He was physically impaired. Who would want him?

He had been stupid to even consider it.

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