Nowhere to Hide (8 page)

A
fter his conversation with Harris, Matt logged on to the AJCs Web site and double clicked on Archives. Tapping in a time line and the key words Sonny Sloan, he hit Search. Three articles flashed on the screen. Matt saved them to a disc and printed a hard copy.

Harris had been right. According to the stories, Sonny died in a house fire seven months ago. Lydia and her son had escaped. Two residents of the middle-class Atlanta neighborhood said Lydia had packed her car with personal belongings and parked it in the driveway the night of the fire.

Matt ran a hand over his forehead. If she didn't know about the fire, why'd she pack her car? It didn't make sense.

Unless she was planning to leave the next morning.

He shoved the papers into his top desk drawer, scooted his chair back and started to stand when the phone rang.

“Security. Lawson.”

“Chief, it's Luke Davenport. My wife just got
home from the gals' neighborhood bridge party. Said she heard noise down on the beach. Probably teens. Remember that problem we had last summer?”

“Bonfires and booze. Yeah, I remember. Mrs. Davenport see anyone?”

“Just heard noise, that's all. Maybe we're overreacting, but after that problem they're having on the mainland—”

“I'll check it out. Call me if you hear or see anything else.”

“Thanks, Chief. Appreciate your help.”

Matt hung up, then rang Eunice.

“Where's Jason?”

“In the marina area,” the dispatcher said.

“Have him drive south along the beach. Tell him to be on the lookout for teens having a little late-night fun. I'll drive north and meet him en route.”

Matt climbed into his pickup and headed for the beach access road. Lowering his headlights, he rolled down the window and listened. Water lapped against the shore.

Low tide.

Quiet. Peaceful.

He stopped at the Davenport property line and turned on his searchlight. No movement. Nothing out of place in the serene seaside setting.

Easing his foot down on the accelerator, he drove past Joel Cowan's home, dark against the night sky.

Strange.

Most of the residents spotlighted their homes at
night. Maybe Cowan liked entertaining his lady friends by starlight.

A few more houses sat back from the beach, their backyard lights filtering onto the sand.

The Jackson home, then Ms. O'Connor's place.

Matt stopped and leaned out the window as Jason pulled up next to him. “See anything?”

“No, sir. Not a soul from the marina south.”

“Mrs. Davenport heard something when she was coming home from her bridge party.”

The kid pretended to heft a glass to his lips. “You know those ladies like their wine.”

“Those
ladies
are funding your paycheck, young man. Best not disparage the hand that feeds you.”

Jason cleared his throat and straightened himself in his seat. “I'll continue south till the cove ends, then backtrack to the marina. Sam needs help with his boat. Won't take long.”

“Sullivan on the gate?”

“Roger that. Talked to him a couple minutes ago. Everything's quiet at his end.”

“Let me know if you spot anything.”

“Will do.”

Jason drove on, leaving Matt to stare into the darkness for a long moment before he eased the truck forward.

A flash caught his eye.

He jammed on the brake and studied the night. Ms. O'Connor's house sat shadowed in the distance.

What had he seen? A reflection?

Matt grabbed his keys from the ignition and stepped from his truck.

Probably nothing, but better safe than sorry.

He climbed the trail that led to the property, the sand soft under his feet. Sweat trickled down the small of his back. He wiped at his shirt, then rubbed his left hand across his brow.

Nearing the house, he noted the blinds and draperies were drawn. The house appeared to be locked up tight. For all he knew, Lydia and Tyler could have driven into the mainland for dinner and a late movie.

Something rustled in the wind. He turned toward the sound. Saw movement. An animal. No—

A man.

Standing on a picnic table, he was peering through the small window.

Matt charged the deck.

The guy turned, his face backlit.

Tall, medium build.

Dark shirt, khaki pants, baseball cap. The guy leaped down and dashed out of sight.

Hoisting himself over the railing, Matt followed him around the side of the house, then stopped short in the front yard.

The Peeping Tom had disappeared.

Dense forest surrounded the landscaped lawn. A path cut through the underbrush. Matt raced forward, dodging branches and pushing back the thick foliage.

The trail led to the property next door.

Rob Jackson stood on his deck, pointing. “Kid headed for the beach. About a minute ahead of you.”

“Which way did he turn?”

“North. Toward the marina.”

Matt raced to the beach and scanned the shoreline.

Nothing moved in either direction.

Grabbing his radio, he punched in the dispatcher's code. “Eunice, Peeping Tom at 50 Cove Road. Have Jason backtrack to the O'Connor house. Alert Sullivan. We're looking for a Caucasian male, tall, medium build, dark shirt, khaki trousers, cap. Contact me if they see anyone who fits that description.”

Matt ran north along the beach until Jason pulled up beside him.

“Jackson saw the kid,” Matt explained. “Ran through his yard, turned north.”

“Probably one of those punks from the mainland.”

Matt nodded. “Follow the beach to the marina, then do a sweep of the island. I'll head out along Cove Road soon as I check on Ms. O'Connor's houseguest.”

Matt followed the path to the O'Connor property, circled the house and climbed the stairs to the front porch.

He knocked twice. “Lydia, it's Matt.”

She inched the door open. The look on her face told Matt she was anything but pleased to see him.

“How dare you look through the sitting room window.” Her eyes were wide with accusation. “You're depraved. Sick.”

He held up his hands in defense. “You've got the wrong guy.”

“I
saw
you running away. Same shirt, cap. You're always snooping around. Last time you had your gun drawn. Now you're looking in my window.”

“Lydia, you saw a Peeping Tom.”

She laughed ruefully. “What? You just happened to be walking by and spied the guy?”

“I wasn't walking by. I was checking your house. Mrs. Davenport heard noise on the beach. I came over to make sure you and Tyler were okay.”

Lydia looked as if she was trying to shift gears and couldn't make the transition.

“If it wasn't you,” she said, a line of confusion crossing her brow. “Who was it?”

“Probably a mainland teen. It happens occasionally. We'll catch him.”

Lydia glanced down at her bare feet and ran a hand through her hair before she looked back at him.

“I'm sorry. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It's just…I thought Sanctuary would be a safe place to live.”

His heart went out to her. She looked frightened, alone. As if she were carrying the weight of the world upon her slender shoulders. And without a soul to help her.

“Why don't you make sure all the doors and windows are locked before I leave? I'll wait on the porch.”

Lydia did as he asked and in a few minutes she
returned, stepped out into the night and stood just inches from him. He could smell her perfume. The breeze caught the scent, teasing him as it wafted past.

“Tyler's asleep,” she said. “Doors and windows locked.”

A few strands of hair fell over her cheek. He wanted to reach out and tuck them back into place.

She stared up into his eyes and moved her lips as if she wanted to tell him something. Was she weighing her options and trying to decide if she could trust him?

He must have lost the toss.

She straightened her shoulders and shoved her jaw forward with determination. “We'll be just fine.”

The magic of the moment evaporated into the steamy night. He took a step back. Lydia Sloan wouldn't divulge any secrets to him, at least not this evening.

He could take a hint. Time to leave the woman alone.

“Lock your doors and don't open them to anyone.” Matt heard the briskness in his own voice. “And turn on the alarm. Remember the secret code in case you need help.” She looked so inviting. He softened for a moment. “I can be here at a moment's notice.”

She nodded. “I've got it.” She held out her hand.

Matt took it, wishing he could wrap her protectively in his arms. A tingle of electricity tickled his palm, and he held the embrace for longer than necessary.

Then he turned on his heels and headed toward his
pickup. No reason to stay where he wasn't wanted. Two weeks and he'd say goodbye for good.

But before he left, he'd find out what had brought Lydia Sloan to Sanctuary.

A
fter lunch on Saturday, Tyler packed his bag for the sleepover and spent the rest of the day begging Lydia to take him to Bobby's house early.

“Mrs. Jackson said six o'clock, honey. Why don't you read one of your library books while you're waiting.”

“Aw, Mom!”

By four o'clock, Lydia was tired of Tyler's whining and sent him to his room for a time-out, while she tried to find something to wear to Joel's party.

She had accepted the invitation to spite Matt. Now, she wished she could stay home with a good book.

When was the last time she'd been to a social gathering, other than a birthday party for one of Tyler's friends? She couldn't remember. Sonny never enjoyed parties. Not that he hadn't gone out in the evening. He called them work-related events, and wives weren't included. Lydia could only imagine the type of work he had been doing.

The phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Lydia, it's Katherine. I've decided to extend my stay. Patrick's sister is stronger, but she still needs help. That is if you and Tyler are doing all right without me.”

“Of course, we are. Don't worry about us. In fact, I have something planned with the island photographer.”

Katherine laughed. “You met Joel?”

“He invited me to his house for a party tonight. Tyler's going to a sleepover at the Jackson home.”

“Joel's definitely a ladies' man. He probably decided to give the party just to impress you, dear.”

“He seems harmless. Beside, I'm not interested in getting involved with anyone.”

“A party would do you good. I bought a couple of dresses on my last shopping trip to New York. But when I brought them home, I realized they're too youthful for a woman my age.”

“Now, Katherine, you don't have an old bone in your body.” From her chuckle, Lydia was sure the woman appreciated the compliment.

“Well, then maybe I should say, they're not my style. Try them on, Lydia. They've still got the tags on them. See if they fit. I'd be so pleased if you'd get some good out of them. Goodness knows I won't be taking them back. You'll save me from packing them up and giving them to charity.”

“You've been too kind already.”

“Nonsense. Do me a favor and wear them. I insist.”

After hanging up, Lydia opened the closet in the
master bedroom and peered at the clothes hanging neatly on the racks. Just as Katherine had said, Lydia found the dresses, still in plastic garment bags complete with the manufacturers' tags.

Although Lydia knew Katherine would look attractive in anything, the dresses did seem designed with a younger woman in mind. Lydia selected a pale purple sheath. The fit was perfect and the color enhanced her skin tones.

She gasped when she looked at the price tag and promised she would somehow make it up to Katherine. After applying makeup and using a curling iron to add a little bounce to her hair, she returned to the living room.

“Time to go,” she called. “Tyler?”

Where was he?

Tyler pulled open the sliding deck door and stepped inside. “I had to get my Frisbee.”

“Lock the door, honey.” Lydia dashed back to the bedroom to get her purse before she and Tyler hustled out the front door.

“Remember to say ‘please' and ‘thank you.' And go to bed when Mrs. Jackson tells you to.” Climbing into the SUV, she added, “I'll give Mrs. Jackson the telephone number of where I'll be. Call me if you get lonesome.”

“Bobby said his mom bought lots of junk food.”

Great, Lydia thought. Ever since Sonny's death, Tyler's stomach had bothered him. Nerves, the pediatrician told her. An overload of sweets wouldn't
help. Tyler would probably come home exhausted and on a sugar high.

“I brought my Action-Pac, Mom. I told the guys I'd let them use it.”

She knew how much the electronic game meant to him. “That would have made Dad happy.”

Turning into the Jackson's driveway, Lydia braked to a stop in front of the house. Tall potted palms waved a welcome from the wraparound porch decorated with white wicker furniture.

Tyler stretched out his arms to Lydia. She kissed his cheek and felt a moment of panic slip over her. If anything ever happened to Tyler…

Before she could worry further, he opened the car door and headed toward the house.

Sarah Jackson welcomed them both with a warm smile as she invited them inside. “We're so glad Tyler could be part of the fun.”

The home was tastefully decorated but very livable. A couch, love seat and two overstuffed chairs with matching ottomans were attractively arranged around a large brick fireplace. A scattering of toys gave evidence this was a house even kids could enjoy.

Bobby and Chase raced in from the kitchen. “Hey, Tyler. Put your stuff in my room,” Bobby said. “Dad's grilling our dinner. Mom baked a cake for dessert.”

Rob stuck his head through the kitchen doorway. “Good to see you again, Lydia. Hey, Tyler. Make yourself at home. Dinner in ten minutes. Care to join us, Lydia?”

She shook her head, appreciating the offer. “Thanks, but I'm going out for the evening.” She gave Joel's address and phone number to Sarah. “Don't hesitate to call, if there's a problem.”

“There won't be,” Sarah insisted. “Enjoy the night. You can pick up Tyler about noon.”

Her son raced upstairs, then turned back long enough to wave goodbye. Lydia's heart felt a tug. Her little guy was growing up too fast. She was grateful Tyler had found friends and appeared to have forgotten—at least for the moment—all that had happened in Atlanta.

The Jacksons seemed like a great family, committed to kids. Tyler would have a wonderful time at the sleepover.

Lydia needed to find out more about the photo, but maybe she would have some fun tonight, as well.

Then she thought of all that had happened over the last seven months, and she knew she was asking for too much, too soon.

 

Cars lined the driveway to Joel's expansive beach house. A stone walkway led to the stately entrance where a contemporary crystal chandelier, hanging in the foyer, shimmered through the etched-glass double doors.

Lydia parked her SUV and ran her hand over her stomach, trying to still the butterflies that fluttered there. Heading back to the seclusion of Katherine's home sounded like a good idea at the moment.

Before she could retreat, the front doors opened and Joel waved a greeting. Attempting to smile, she pulled her keys from the ignition and headed for the house.

“You look ravishing,” Joel gushed. He hugged her ever so briefly and kissed her turned cheek, then motioned her inside.

An eclectic assortment of leather couches, chrome tables and textured animal-print furnishings filled the great room. On the far wall, a stacked-stone fireplace stretched to meet the crown molding and twelve-foot ceiling. Rattan fans circled lazily overhead while track lighting accentuated a group of muted watercolors and various collections of black-and-white prints.

Jazz played in the background and a mix of twenty-and thirty-somethings, many dressed in sleek black outfits, milled around the great room, sipping red wine.

Joel placed his hand on the small of her back and ushered her forward, dropping the names of those they passed along the way.

Everyone seemed friendly, but when Joel went to check on the hors d'oeuvres, Lydia found herself wondering how soon she could see the photo and head home.

A woman with shoulder-length raven hair and diamond-stud earrings approached. “Joel said you're new to the island.”

“Actually, I'm visiting. Do you live here?” Lydia asked.

The woman shrugged. “Only when Joel invites me to stay. I'm from Jacksonville.” She turned and ac
knowledged the others. “We all are. Joel left there about a year ago. We worked together and hated to see him go. Now, whenever he snaps his fingers and says ‘party,' we arrive in a flash.”

“Were you with the same law firm?”

The woman tilted head. “What?”

“I thought Joel was a lawyer.”

The woman laughed. “Sure, he is.”

“Now, Cynthia.” Joel appeared from nowhere. “You're not telling stories, are you?” He handed Lydia the soda she requested as Cynthia moved to another circle of friends.

“To new relationships.” He raised his wineglass, took a large gulp and wiped his tongue over his lips. “Tell me how you've been entertaining yourself since we last talked.”

Lydia doubted Joel would be interested in knowing she walked the floors most nights, wondering what her husband had been involved in that had caused his death. Nor would he care that she was beginning to breathe without feeling tightness in her chest.

She finally decided on a noncommittal response. “Actually, Tyler keeps me busy.”

Joel pulled his glass to his lips again, his eyes flickering over his guests. “He's very much the active one, isn't he now?”

Smiling, he waved to someone who had just entered the room. Turning back to Lydia, he bowed. “If you'll excuse me, madame, duty requires me to greet my guest.”

“But, what about the photo?”

“Photo? Ah, yes. Give me a minute, would you?” He walked away, leaving her standing alone in the center of the room.

Lydia turned to look out the French doors that opened onto the deck. A few of the guests reclined in sculptured chaise lounges, while others pulled chairs around a teak table decorated with wrought iron hurricane lamps that flickered in the evening breeze. Beyond the Olympic-size pool and landscaped lawn, the deserted beach and placid sea stretched toward the horizon.

More people arrived, and the chatter of the guests soon filled the house. Someone turned up the music's volume. The noise level increased as people talked over the jazz medley.

Lydia put down her glass and walked to a built-in bookshelf where Joel's photographs were displayed. The sooner she found the picture of Sonny, the sooner she'd be able to leave the large and noisy gathering. She yearned to be back at Katherine's—the house that was beginning to feel like home.

She scanned the framed photos. A snapshot of Joel at a poolside barbecue surrounded by bikini-clad women. A party at his house and another shot of his sailboat.

Lydia's heart caught in her throat.

A four-by-six copy of the gull photo sat on the shelf. In the background, one face stood out.

The man
had
to be her husband.

Yet, Sonny had refused to visit Katherine once she moved to Sanctuary. So what was he doing on the island?

Lydia turned as the host approached.

“Contrary to popular opinion, I do not invite attractive women to my parties and then leave them to fend for themselves,” Joel said. “And I certainly don't introduce them to other eligible bachelors who might edge me out of consideration.”

Lydia forced a smile. “You have a beautiful home, Joel.”

He shrugged. “Only as beautiful as the people who fill it.” He placed his glass on the bookshelf and reached for her free hand. “Lydia, I haven't been able to get you off my mind since that day we met on the beach.”

“Joel—”

“I understand you and your son are here for a vacation. I'm hoping that includes getting to know me better. I'd love to take you sailing. Perhaps candlelight dinners when Tyler stays at his friend's house.”

Her pulse raced but not with attraction. Joel had acquired a slight lisp, no doubt from the wine he had consumed.

Someone opened the doors that led to the deck. A stiff breeze blew through the house, causing her to shiver.

“You're cold.” Joel released her hand and draped his arm over her shoulders. “Let me keep you warm.”

Lydia pointed to the photo on the shelf and tried
to edge out of his embrace. “Tell me about this picture, Joel. When was it taken?”

Her host shrugged. “In the past year or so.”

“This man,” Lydia indicated Sonny “do you know him?”

He squinted at the photo. “Maybe a visitor to the island. Or someone's houseguest. I can't place him to tell you the truth.”

Truth? That's what Lydia was seeking.

The doorbell rang, the sound barely audible above the music. If only Joel would stay put and not rush off to welcome the newcomer. She needed to learn more about the photo before he disappeared again.

“Any idea who this other man is?” The second man's face had been cut out of the picture.

“Let me see.” Joel bent to take a closer look, his head touching hers.

“What's going on here?” a voice demanded behind Lydia.

She turned. “Matt?”

The security chief stood three feet away.

Joel dropped his arm from around Lydia and swaggered forward. “Who invited
you?
”