LITMIR.BIZ

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worked so hard these last months to find out what had happened to Sonny. The fire hadn’t been an accident. Someone had wanted him dead. But who and why? The police? Someone at the club?

      She had asked God to help her learn the truth. So far, He’d ignored her request.

      The security chief—

      What was his name?

      She glanced at a plaque on the wall. Matt Lawson, that was it.

      Her eyes strayed to a certificate with The City of Miami Police Department scripted in gold. “In grateful appreciation for services rendered.”

      A former cop. No wonder Mr. Lawson seemed unsympathetic to her situation. Of course, in his defense she hadn’t given him enough information to realize why she was so cautious. Maybe he’d be more understanding if he knew the truth.

      Not that she was willing to explain anything.

      Slowly, the tension that had held her tight for so long eased. Her eyes grew heavy. Her mind began to drift….

      A phone rang. She jerked awake with a start. Tyler was sound asleep, slumped in her arms. Her watch read 2:00 a.m.

      Matt said something into the phone, then smiled in her direction.

      “That’s good to hear, Ms. O’Connor. Yes, she and her son arrived a few hours ago. There was a problem with the security alarm.” He motioned for Lydia.

      Katherine’s voice sounded tired when Lydia put the phone to her ear.

      “Sorry about the alarm,” Katherine said. “I probably should have canceled my trip.”

      “And I told you I wouldn’t hear of it. Your sister-in-law’s counting on you,” Lydia hastened to reply.

      “Hip replacement at age eighty-two. She’ll need more than my help. I told Matt you were to be given every courtesy. Don’t forget, there are spare clothes in the guest room and a charge card in the desk drawer.”

      “That’s not necessary,” Lydia said.

      “Buy Tyler a few things for me and don’t be stubborn. You don’t want anyone to trace your credit card. Order anything you need from The Country Store. It’s about fifteen miles west of the island. And there’s a small grocery not far from the house. We can settle up when I return, if you insist.”

      “I can’t thank you enough.”

      “You helped me when Patrick died. Fact is grief probably would have killed me if you hadn’t forced me to work through my misery. I know what desperate feels like.”

      Lydia blinked back tears of appreciation.

      “Plus, I never thought Sonny was good enough for you, but that’s beside the point. The only thing of value he ever did was tell me about Sanctuary. Eight months ago when Atlanta held too many memories, the ocean was just what I needed. Maybe it’ll help you, as well. Now, let me give you the security code before I forget.”

      Lydia wrote the numbers on a scrap of paper.

      “Tell Matt he owes you a dinner for all the trouble he’s caused.”

      “No harm done,” Lydia said.

      “The man’s got a good heart, it’s just that his head gets in the way sometimes. And don’t listen to the island gossip. He’s more than paid for his sins. Listen, I’ve got to go, the limousine’s ready to leave for the hotel. I’m praying for you, Lydia. Call you in a day or two.”

      Lydia hung up the phone. Unlike her own lukewarm attitude toward the Almighty, Katherine seemed on fire with the love of the Lord. Maybe He’d listen to her prayers.

      Matt stood and walked around his desk as Lydia returned to the couch. “The electricity should be on by now. I’ll drive you and Tyler back to the house.”

      She nudged her sleeping child. “Wake up, honey.”

      Tyler rubbed his eyes. “I’m thirsty, Mom.”

      Matt dug into his pocket, pulled out some change and pointed to a side door. “There’s a soda machine down that hall. Connects with the Community Center.” He dropped the coins in Tyler’s outstretched hand.

      “Thank you,” Lydia said, following Tyler through the doorway.

      Tyler ran to the machine. “Can I get a cola?”

      “An orange drink or lemon-lime. You decide.”

      While Tyler studied the selection, Lydia glanced at a glass-covered bulletin board filled with photographs that hung on the wall.

      Island Life, a sign read, thumbtacked to the center of the grouping on the wall. Joel Cowan, photographer.

      Although she and Sonny had never been to Sanctuary, the four-by-six glossies seemed to capture the casual lifestyle of coastal living. A few photos showed pleasure crafts docked at a marina. Others were of fishermen hauling in their catch and men and woman enjoying the sun and the surf.

      Wonder if she’d find Katherine’s face in the collage.

      One photo caught her eye. A group of seagulls hovered in midflight, snagging morsels of bread thrown aloft by someone out of camera range.

      She smiled at the birds’ frenzy as they vied for food. Two figures stood in the background of the photo. One man watched the gulls while the other—his face cropped off the picture—draped his arm around the first man’s shoulder.

      Tyler inserted the coins into the slot. A can dropped to the bottom of the machine. “I got an orange soda.” He ran back to where she stood and popped the top.

      The phone rang in the security chief’s office. Lydia glanced through the open door. “Busy place,” she muttered watching as Matt picked up the receiver.

      “Lawson.” He paused for a moment. “Why’d you leave the gatehouse, Sam?”

      The chief’s body tensed. “How bad is it?”

      Matt nodded. “I’ll contact the mainland sheriff.”

      Tyler took a long sip of the cold drink, then skipped toward the office, can in hand. “Come on, Mom. Time to go to Aunt Katherine’s.”

      “Be there in a second.”

      Lydia glanced back at the bulletin board. Something seemed familiar. She bent closer, squinted her eyes. The man in the photo—

      “Sonny?”

      Lydia sucked in a lungful of air. Her husband was the man in the photo.

      But Sonny never had wanted to visit Sanctuary with his wife and son. Whenever Katherine invited them to visit, he would adamantly refuse, claiming he couldn’t spare the time.

      Yet, his face had been captured in vivid color next to a sign that read, Help Keep Sanctuary Island Clean.

      A picture might be worth a thousand words, but Lydia was speechless. Another lie. Another deception. There had been so many.

      She shook her head and thought for a moment. Maybe the photo could be the clue she desperately needed.

      If she found out what her husband had been doing on the island, she might find information that would lead her to the men in Atlanta who had killed Sonny.

      The men who were now after her son.

      THREE

      “That wraps it up.” Wayne Turner, the mainland sheriff, midforties and balding, watched as the emergency road crew positioned the last of the fluorescent pylons to warn motorists traveling the narrow two-lane Bay Road. On each side of the pavement, water slapped against the stone embankment.

      Wayne turned to Matt and stretched out his hand. “What a night. Flash floods and another home broken into on the mainland.”

      Matt returned the handshake. “Kind of spoils the

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