FACED WITH THOSE all-knowing sea-green eyes, Tyler fought to deny the turmoil churning in his gut.
She made him feel good. Amazing, even. He didn’t want the past jumping in to spoil their bond.
“You know you can tell me anything,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But…”
“No but.”
She sat up, sliding the back of her hand across his cheek. The tender gesture made his throat close. “Why did you retire?”
You’re not alone, not anymore.
She’d said those words to her brother. The fact that she was willing to stand up for him as well overwhelmed him. All those years ago, he hadn’t seen her, but his focus was clear now. She was loyal and strong, beautiful and compassionate, challenging and brilliant.
It was ridiculously obvious that he loved her.
She was everything he needed to make his life complete. She was what had been missing from his supposedly perfect life. He’d risk or do anything to have her by his side.
With feelings of that depth running through his veins, he had no right to keep secrets, to hold back the worst of him. If he ever hoped to have her love and respect in return, she had to know the truth.
Even if he risked everything.
He rose and held out his hand. “Let’s go into the den.”
After helping her dress in his uniform shirt, which looked a hell of a lot better on her anyway, he got them some orange juice from the kitchen, then sat beside her on his rented brown leatherette couch.
If he was going to win Andrea’s heart, he’d have to get over his commitment issues and actually buy some decent furniture.
“I was called in the middle of the night to head a mission in…” He paused, considering security clearances, information he’d sworn to protect, along with lives. “Terrorists had taken over a village, and we’d been quietly asked to assist in apprehending the suspects and turning them over to local military.”
“Quietly?”
“It’s not the sort of thing you’d see on the news unless the mission went horribly wrong.”
“Which, I’m guessing, it did.”
His heart lurched as he recalled the noisy firefight, the panic and screams amid a cloud of dust. “The terrorists were bigger in numbers and better armed than I anticipated. Three guys on my team were killed.”
“By the terrorists?”
“Yes, but my aggressive tactics caused them to be in the vulnerable position in the first place. I should have done more recon. I should have anticipated the ambush.”
“I would think their job made them vulnerable.”
Her blind defense suddenly made him angry, though he knew from intimate experience that fury led nowhere. “I screwed up!”
“So why didn’t you die?” she asked softly.
“I have no idea.”
“I’m assuming you weren’t the only one who escaped.”
“Nine out of twelve.” He bowed his head, gripping his juice until he was sure it would shatter in his hands. “The military considered the mission a success.”
“You don’t, of course.” She drew her hand up his back. “And you maybe shouldn’t. You made a mistake, but since you were trying to save innocent people at the time, the government—and any other sane individual—should give you a break. Did your commander force you to retire?”
“He offered a leave of absence, time to get my head together and get counseling. I refused.” He lifted his shoulders to try to shrug off the decision he’d come to, but he knew he wasn’t doing nonchalance very well. “I can’t be trusted with other people’s lives anymore.”
“Which is why you’re scared of becoming sheriff.”
He cast her a surprised glance. How did she always understand so easily? Was he that transparent, or was she that intuitive?
“These are the most important people in your life—your family, friends, people you grew up with. You don’t want to risk them.”
He’d add her, and even Finn, to that list, but he didn’t want to distract her. “What if I screw up again?”
“News flash, Mr. Wanna-be Sheriff, you are going to screw up again. You’re not perfect, and nobody expects you to be.”
“My family—”
“Will love you no matter what. Do they know about the failed mission?” When he shook his head, she added, “You need to tell them.”
“But I was the quarterback, student class president, Most Likely to Succeed, Most Popular, honor graduate, war hero. All those accomplishments are listed on my election posters. I’m a fraud. I’m none of those things.”
“Mr. Everything has flaws. Well, ain’t that a kick in the pants?”
He scowled. “You’re making me feel foolish.”
“I’m sorry. You’re not.” She set the juice glasses on the coffee table and linked their hands. “And you still are all those things. It’s the way you deal with your setbacks that make you amazing, not having them in the first place.” She searched his gaze, her bright eyes glittering. “What if I’d given up on being with you?” she asked.
“But you didn’t. You went after what you wanted.”
She smiled. “With a little pushing and shoving by a friend, yeah. You need to put what’s happened to you into perspective. If guilt keeps you from being sheriff, then the loss you’ve suffered will only become greater.”
The heaviness in his chest suddenly lightened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her in exactly the place he wanted her to stay forever. She sighed and hugged him tight.
It was crazy…her not turning away from him. He could hardly believe he’d shared something so intimate with a woman he was seeing. He’d never trusted anyone to that extent.
But when the unexpected jumped from behind a dark corner, Andrea was the one who’d have his back.
She didn’t seem at all phased by his terrible revelations. She loved and accepted her brother, even with the mistakes he’d made, so Tyler should have realized that telling her the truth wouldn’t be so hard. And despite the fact that they had to solve this case and clear Finn, plus get himself elected, none of that seemed like a burden, or even so difficult anymore.
The understanding in her eyes had given him back the hope he’d lost.
“Do you want to withdraw from the election?” she asked, leaning back to meet his gaze.
“And leave Lester Cradock in charge of law and order? Hell, no.”
“Really? I was so looking forward to finding the next cutting-edge belt designer who could accommodate bullwhip attachments.”
“Indiana Jones has long-cornered the market anyway.”
“Unfortunate for Lester, but probably true.”
He laid his hand against her cheek. “You’re pretty amazing.”
Rising, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and tugged him down the hall to his bedroom. “Am I? I bet I can upgrade that assessment.”
She offered her support and her body, but he knew he hadn’t yet reached her heart. Since he’d only realized his own feelings not long ago, he’d have to be patient, let their connection grow and build until she, too, realized they were meant to be together.
And in the meantime, he intended to catch a thief.
THE NEXT MORNING, TYLER walked up the stairs to the sheriff’s department with a genuine attitude of optimism and promise.
Through the thefts and election preparation, he’d been moving forward with half his heart. Until last night, he hadn’t felt worthy of walking in either Sheriff Caldwell’s or his grandfather’s shoes.
And though he’d never forget the mistakes he’d made and the lives lost as a result, he was confident he could do the job the islanders would—hopefully—entrust to him.
Inside, Aqua wasn’t at her desk, but the object of Dwayne’s undying devotion, Misty Mickerson, and her three-year-old son, Jack, sat in the waiting room. “Can we talk?” she asked, standing and tucking a strand of her bright red hair behind her ear.
Clutching his toy plastic police car in his chubby hand, Jack, his white-blond locks a stark contrast to his mother’s, gave Tyler a broad grin.
“Your ex?” Tyler asked Misty, wondering how they could have that kind of conversation in front of Jack.
“No. I haven’t heard from him in months. This is about Dwayne.”
Tyler was even more confused, but he nodded. “Come on back.” Still wondering where Aqua had gotten off to, he led Misty and Jack to the sheriff’s office.
There, Misty laid down a blanket for the toddler and surrounded him with a collection of toys before she sat in the visitor’s chair in front of the desk. “He’ll be happy,” she said, casting her son a tired but proud glance. “For a good ten minutes anyway.”
“What’s up?” Tyler asked, leaning against the desk.
“You know Dwayne pretty well, right?”
“I guess.” Explaining about his tendency to hyperventilate probably wasn’t something Misty needed to know. “We work together every day. He’s a good cop…a reliable, thorough man.” He flicked his gaze to Jack and wondered if he might be pushing it when he added, “He’d make a good father someday.”
Misty sighed. “I want Dwayne to make a move.”
“A—” Tyler stopped. From what he’d heard, all Dwayne did was make moves. None of which had been reciprocated. “Pardon me?”
“He’s been asking me out nearly every week for the last two years. But, lately, nothing. He says he’s busy—working with you on a case.”
The accusation in her tone was unmistakable.
Hang on. “Why didn’t you accept one of his offers before now?”
She shrugged. “I just liked him asking.”
And people thought Tyler was a ladies’ man. He’d never understand the gender if he made decoding them his life’s work. To think he’d been in a good mood less than ten minutes ago. “If you’re just going to turn him down again, why should I convince him to ask you out?”
“I’m ready to accept now.”
“Why?”
Her soft brown eyes twinkled. “He’s a good cop, a reliable, thorough man. He’d make a good father someday.”
“Uh-huh. A hundred or so dinner invitations, and zippo. But on my recommendation, you’re willing to give him a chance.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You and the sheriff said almost the identical thing about him. So I figure I’d been holding out a little too long. I mean, after my ex’s drunken tantrums, I had a right to be cautious, but the most potent thing Dwayne drinks is coffee at Mabel’s, and he’s so quiet and gentle. Maybe it’s time I move on.”
“The sheriff?” Tyler repeated. Those were the only words he’d really heard. “When did you talk to the sheriff?”
“About ten minutes before you came in. He left with the receptionist—the one with blue streaks in her hair. I’m sure they’ll be back—”
“But he’s in Bermuda.”
“Not anymore.”
Tyler’s heart jumped. “You’re saying Sheriff Buddy Caldwell—big guy, Stetson hat, boots—he’s on the island?” He pointed at the scuffed wooden floor. “This island.”
“Sure. I guess he was on vacation or something, but—” She stopped as Tyler straightened abruptly. “What?”
“He wasn’t due back until next Sunday.”
“Oh, well. I guess he changed his plans.”
He’d been in a really good mood ten minutes ago.
While Tyler’s mind was racing about which victim—Mrs. Jackson, Cal Wells or the Catholic Church—might have called him home, the imposing figure of the man himself filled the doorway.
Nodding briefly at Misty, he crossed his arms over his massive chest. Then he transferred his gaze to Tyler, who could have sworn the other man’s piercing blue eyes bored a hole through his skull. “I hear your big case is headed for the crapper.”