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.

Copyright © 2015 by Carol J. Post