But Cade didn’t turn away. Instead, he looked harder at her, his eyes cutting deep.
She hated herself for mentioning the scar. She didn’t want to be vulnerable, not here with him, when he was sitting so close and looking at her with those eyes that used to make her nervous when she was fourteen. She had had a crush on him then, but she had countered it by acting as if she couldn’t stand him, the jock who wouldn’t have given her the time of day.
She wouldn’t have him feeling sorry for her now. She thought of getting up and walking out, saying something rude and cryptic, something that shifted his focus off of her face.
But she felt tears rising in her throat, her nose, stinging behind her eyes. One move, one turn of her head, and her control would shatter, she was sure.
Cade touched her shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
Slowly, his hand moved up her neck, into her hair . . .
She swallowed, but didn’t allow herself to look away.
With the featherlight touch of his thumb, he stroked her scarred cheek.
No one had ever touched it before, no one besides her mother or father. Even Morgan had never intruded on that private part of her.
She felt herself recoiling, knowing it was blood red and testifying to the heart slamming out its cries that this was her scar and no one else’s, and he couldn’t just reach out and touch it like it didn’t repulse him. He couldn’t sit here and pretend—
“I know the scar bothers you, Blair,” he whispered, stilling her thoughts. “And I know it’s caused you a lot of pain. But I don’t really see it anymore.”
Her eyes misted, so she closed them, holding back those tears. But the hard protective shell over her heart seemed to melt, and one tear escaped, tracing its way down the crusted, blistery skin. He wiped that tear with a sweet, gentle pressure that made her heart break.
“I’ve known you for so long, Blair,” he whispered, “that all I see when I look at you—is the prettiest girl on Cape Refuge. I don’t see scars anymore. I know what you really look like.”
She felt exposed, undressed, as if he could see things about her that she didn’t want revealed. Slowly, she slipped back out of his touch.
He kept his hand suspended in the air.
She tried to say something logical, meaningful, something that would make light of what had just happened, but there weren’t words like that inside her right now.
Finally, she blurted the only thing that came to her mind. “You really know how to kick a girl when she’s down.”
She could see that he wasn’t fooled. “Blair—”
“I have to go.” She launched out of her seat and crossed the floor, her heels pounding with vengeful purpose. She left Cade there and pushed through the hard wooden door.
As she quickly walked away, she told herself she could not look back. What had just happened had no meaning to her, and she would not think of it again.
C H A P T E R
39
After Morgan had gotten Sadie fed and settled, and had made sure she was locked in her room, Morgan kept her word and headed back to Blair’s house to spend the night. Though Blair’s car was still at Hanover House, she wasn’t there. Morgan figured she had gone for a walk, so she used her key to get in.
Quiet had become a friend to her, a comfort during these painful days. She had no heart or stomach for the radio or television, and even conversation with her sister could be an unwelcome intrusion. She lay down on the couch, closed her eyes, and slipped into a light sleep.
Some time later, she woke with a start. The house had grown dark as night fell over the island. She turned on a lamp and listened for the sound that had awakened her. Something scratched on the side window of the house. She lifted her head and looked toward it. The blinds were drawn, so she couldn’t see out. She heard it again, so she got up and started toward the window.
The noise got louder, a scratch, scratch, scratching, like someone was cutting through the screen.
An animal? she wondered. Perhaps a bird tearing it, or some kind of rodent? She reached for the blinds and was about to pull them back when the glass broke. She jumped back and screamed.
Her mind reeled, and she grabbed the antique hutch that Blair kept near the window. She pulled it with all her might, shoved it in front of the window to keep the intruder from crawling through. Then she dove for the telephone.
Frantically, she dialed the number for the police department—but the line was dead.
She stumbled into the kitchen, groped for the silverware drawer, and pulled out a butcher knife. Holding the knife in her teeth, she turned the kitchen table on its side and pushed it against the back door. Then, with Herculean strength she didn’t know she had, she slid the kitchen island against it.
She wasn’t a strong person. Jonathan and her father had always done the heavy lifting in the family, but adrenaline surged through her as she ran around from window to window, grabbing the piano and shoving as hard as she could until it rolled against the front door. She backed away, and held the knife as she frantically scanned her fortress for a breach.
She heard a noise at the back door. He was trying to come through.
“Get away from here!” she screamed. “The police are on their way. I have a cell phone!” She knew that if the man outside was an islander, he would know that most cell phones couldn’t get a signal here.
Her screams only seemed to make him try harder to get into the house. Terror pumped through her veins. She knew Blair had a gun somewhere in the house, but she didn’t know where she kept it.
She heard a back window breaking, heard the scraping back of the cedar chest she had shoved against it on its side.
He was coming.
She stumbled and fell as she ran to Blair’s bedroom, got up and groped for the closet door. She backed up into the corner of it and hunched down, clutching that knife in her hands, determined to use it.
Suddenly, she knew some of the terror her parents must have experienced in those last moments before their death.
As she crouched there, she prayed that Blair would not be the one to find her dead.
C H A P T E R
40
Blair didn’t go right home. She walked down the beach, trying to shake off the feelings that had come over her. Night was falling over the water, and the lights of Cape Refuge were coming on. She walked faster and faster back to Hanover House where she had left her car, hoping her speed and her determination would slow the surging of her blood and the racing of her heart. She hoped the blood pumping through her brain would purge her mind of the thoughts of Cade sitting next to her and seeing through the scars. There was too much pain that came on the heels of hope. She had enough pain in her life.
She got to her car, and stared at her windshield until her emotions were under control. Finally, she started home.
Morgan’s car was parked in her driveway, and for a moment she wished she hadn’t insisted that her sister spend the night there. She needed to be alone to think.
She went to the door and unlocked it, but it wouldn’t open more than an inch. Something blocked it. She shoved harder. “Morgan!” she cried. “Morgan, let me in!”
There was no answer, so she rang the bell and banged on the door. “Morgan!” she cried. “Open the door! It’s me.” When there was no answer, she went to the window.
The screen was cut, and someone had broken the window. She called for her sister again, but no one came. Beginning to panic, she ran around to the back of the house, unlocked the back door. It too was barricaded.
Frantic, she went back to the broken window, knocked more of the glass out, then shoved the cabinet in front of it until she was able to climb through.
“Morgan!” She hit the floor and turned on the light. “Where are you?”
She sucked in a breath as she saw the furniture shoved against the windows and doors, a feeble effort to create a fortress. Panic ros
e like acid in her throat, and she clutched her gun and dashed for the bedroom.
Something moved in the closet, so she threw the door open.
Morgan crouched in the corner, a knife clutched in both hands.
“Morgan!” she cried, and Morgan looked up and began to wail.
“He was coming in,” she cried, still clutching the knife. “He broke out the glass, and the back door, and he was coming around . . .”
She was shivering in terror, and Blair took the knife out of her hand and pulled Morgan out of the closet.
“The phone line . . . I couldn’t call . . .”
“I’ve got a gun,” Blair said. “I can protect us. We need to get Cade.”
Morgan’s eyes darted from window to window. “We can’t go out there.”
“My car must have scared him,” she said. “Come on. We’ll go outside together. We’ll get in the car and go to the police.”
Morgan clung to her and followed. Blair shoved the piano away from the front door and held Morgan with one arm as she clutched the gun with the other.
They flew to her car and tore out of her parking lot. Within minutes they were at the police station.
Cade was standing at the door to his office when Blair and Morgan rushed inside.
“Somebody tried to break into the house,” Blair cried. “They cut the phone lines. I found Morgan in the closet with a knife.”
Cade didn’t waste any time. “Dispatch all four cars to 214 River Road!” he shouted to the dispatcher. “Stay here,” he ordered Blair. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Cade rushed to his car and headed toward her house with his lights flashing. Then adrenaline and wrath beat through his head as he walked around the house and saw how close Morgan and Blair had come to death. The intruder had believed they were both at home, and he had been intent on getting to them.
“I got something,” McCormick called from the other end of the garden.
Cade crossed the yard and looked over his shoulder. A red bandana lay in the dirt.
“Gus Hampton always wears a red bandana,” McCormick said.
Cade didn’t answer. “Bag this evidence,” he told Joe, then he turned to Billy Caldwell and Alex Johnson. “Both of you, follow me over to Hanover House to arrest Gus Hampton. If he’s not there, we’re gonna tear up this island ‘til we find him.”
Leaving two officers to help McCormick, Cade and a convoy of police cars flew down River Road toward Hanover House.
C H A P T E R
41
It didn’t surprise Cade to find that Gus’s truck wasn’t parked at Hanover House. He was probably cowering somewhere or scheming to go back to Blair’s and finish the job.
Cade’s urgent knock shook the house, and he heard footsteps. A woman’s voice called, “Who is it?”
“Chief Cade. Open up.”
The door slowly opened, and Cade saw the girl he had found on the beach. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
She was startled. “Morgan invited me,” she said. “I haven’t done anything wrong. She brought me here, and—”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not here for you. I’m looking for Gus Hampton.”
“I don’t know Gus,” she said. “I just got here a little while ago. Mrs. Hern is the only one here.”
He stepped inside, his eyes darting across the room. “I need to speak to Mrs. Hern, then.”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
Cade found the woman standing at the sink. When she looked up at him, her face lit up.
“Hello.”
He knew the woman had probably forgotten his name. “Mrs. Hern, I’m looking for Gus Hampton. Do you know where he is?”
“I can’t say,” she said, “but he could be over at . . . uh . . . that place on the dock. He likes to go there for supper sometimes. You know the place . . .”
“Crickets?”
“Yes, that’s it. He likes that place.”
“Mrs. Hern, when’s the last time you saw him?”
“Well, uh . . . this morning, I guess. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Blair’s house was broken into tonight.”
“You think it was Gus?” she asked. “Oh my, Gus wouldn’t do that.”
“I just want to ask him a few questions,” he said. “But take my advice and lock your doors tonight, just to be on the safe side.”
He could see the fear on Sadie’s face as she inched back to the stairs as if she was ready to hide in her room and lock the door even now.
He got back into the squad car and crossed town to the warehouse where he had sat with Blair a little over an hour before. The parking lot at Crickets was full, and he could hear music from inside. Life went on, even though the murder was just a few days old—not more than a few dozen yards from this place. No time to mourn during tourist season, he supposed.
Followed by the officers who had met him there, he went into the restaurant and looked around the bar. He stood there a moment, scanning the smoke-blanketed tables and the faces of diners and drinkers. Finally, he saw a man with his back to him sitting alone at a corner table reading the paper. He had a red bandana tied on his head. He had expected Gus to be without it, with his bald head shining. But he supposed Gus had more than one.
Cade turned to the officers who had come in with him. “Caldwell, go check with the bartender and waiters to see how long he’s been here. Johnson, come with me.”
Caldwell headed through the people to the bar, and Cade started toward Gus. He ignored the greetings of those who called out to him and kept his eyes instead on the man who may have just broken into Blair’s house.
Gus looked up. “You again, mon?”
“I need to talk to you,” Cade said through tight lips. “Come with me. Now. If you do it quietly and peacefully, I won’t arrest you here.”
“Arrest me?” Gus asked. “For what?”
“Are you going to come with me or not?” Cade asked.
Gus stood up. He was a good six inches taller than Cade and had at least fifty pounds on him, but Cade was angry enough to tear him limb from limb. “Mon, nothing’s changed since the last time.”
“In the car, pal.”
Gus looked around uncomfortably, then decided to do as he was told. He stalked out of the building, closely flanked by Cade and Alex Johnson.
He got into the passenger seat of Cade’s car and propped his elbow on the window. “I be sitting here minding my own business, mon. You making me look bad.”
“We can talk about it at the station,” Cade said.
As he drove back across town, Cade told himself that he wasn’t going to let this man back on the streets tonight. Even if he didn’t have the hard evidence he needed, he would lock Gus up and make sure that Blair and Morgan were safe for the rest of the night.
C H A P T E R
42
I was set up, mon.” Gus Hampton paced across the interview room, a fine sweat shining on his brown skin. “I never even been near Blair’s house.”
“Okay, let’s just go with your story that you weren’t the one who tried to break into Blair’s house. Where exactly were you?”
“I be at work, mon. Then I went straight to Crickets.”
Cade looked hard at the man. He wanted nothing more than to beat the truth out of him. He pictured him sawing through Blair’s screen, breaking the glass, cutting the phone line, going from window to window in a murderous attempt to get at her and Morgan.
The justice system wasn’t enough for people like that, he thought. He needed something more brutal.
Knowing his mind was taking him down the wrong path, he got up and stalked to the door. “McCormick!” he shouted.
Joe came to the door. “Yeah, Chief?”
Cade stepped out into the hall. “Help me out here, man, before I hurt this guy.”
McCormick nodded. “Glad to.”
“He claims he was at work, went straight to Crickets, never been to Blair’s house in his life.”
&nbs
p; McCormick went in and dropped into the seat next to Melinda Jane. He leaned up on the table, looking at Gus with hard, weary eyes. “Gus, take off your shoes. There were footprints near the windows. Big ones.”
Gus took his boots off and plopped them on the table. “Check them out, mon.” He set his jaw and peered at Cade. “If that was my do-rag you found, it was planted there to make me look guilty. Rick’s the bandooloo.”
“He’s the what?” Cade asked, irritated.
“The trickster, mon. He’s dishonest, that Rick Morrison.”
Cade didn’t bother to confirm Gus’s statement with what he’d learned about Rick.
“Ask him about the money he be stealing from his boss man,” Gus said. “Even better, ask them. He be walking around all misty-eyed and mourning. ‘Tom drunk but Tom no fool.’ “
“What?” McCormick asked. “Who in the blazes is Tom?”
“It is a Jamaican expression, mon,” Gus said. “Meaning things are not what they seem.”
“Speak English, Gus, and we’ll move along a lot faster.” Cade got up and set both hands on the windowsill. He could hear Melinda Jane’s fingers clacking on her stenotype machine.
“So tell me what you know about the thefts,” McCormick said.
“What I know is that Rick Morrison stole money from his boss man,” Gus said. “Check it out. You’ll see, mon.”
“How do you know that?” McCormick asked.
“I listen good,” Gus said. “It’s not that hard in Hanover House. You hear things and you put them together.”
“And what did you hear?”
“That Rick stole money from his boss man, but he gave it back before they caught him.”
“Oh,” McCormick said without belief. “So there wouldn’t be any evidence at all? No stolen money, no angry employer, no nothing? What does that prove?”
“That he is not an honest man. He has secrets. And if he be involved in this terrible thing, maybe he be trying to make me look like the one. He could have got my bandana out of my room. Or found it after I dropped it somewhere.”