Carol J. Post - Shattered Haven

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.