Shattered Haven. Carol J. Post

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СКАЧАТЬ a free fall. Her face was three shades lighter than it had been moments ago, and her eyes were wide with fear.

      He took two quick steps forward. “What is it?”

      “Someone’s been in the house.”

      “Are you sure?” He stepped past her into the foyer and immediately answered his own question. The top had been removed from the first stair post and was lying on the foyer floor. To the right, an open double doorway framed scattered brocade pillows. A roll of what looked like house plans had been slung against a sofa leg. Dog-eared pages curled into haphazard rolls on the polished oak floor, partially hidden by one of the sofa seat cushions.

      He turned toward Allison, a sense of protectiveness surging up inside him. He couldn’t help it. It was his police training. Once a cop, always a cop. Being unable to do the job didn’t take away those instincts.

      Allison stood in the doorway, phone in hand, calling nine-one-one. He stepped back outside, and within minutes, a Cedar Key police cruiser stopped at the curb, siren silenced. The lights remained flashing. It was Hunter, the same cop who had cuffed him early yesterday morning. The officer’s eyes shifted from him to Allison and then back to him. The question in his gaze was probably about more than just the call.

      Hunter stepped onto the porch and addressed Allison. “Another break-in?”

      “Seems that way. Maybe it’s time I install an alarm.”

      Blake looked at her sharply. “You don’t have one? I thought you said you did.” In fact, he knew that was what she had said. Early yesterday morning, when Hunter had him pinned against the cruiser.

      A grin climbed up her cheeks. “I didn’t say I had an alarm. I just said I wouldn’t forget to set it.”

      He matched her smile with one of his own. “You just wanted me to think you had one.”

      “I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Just in case.” She motioned Hunter inside. “I don’t know how bad it is. I didn’t go past the front doorway.”

      Blake started to follow, then hesitated. It wasn’t his case. He wasn’t even a cop anymore. He was a civilian getting ready to walk into a woman’s house uninvited. He cast a glance at Allison. “Is it all right if I go in?”

      “Sure. Another set of trained eyes can’t hurt.”

      Hunter stopped in the doorway of the living room. “Since all the cushions are off the furniture, I’m guessing he was looking for something.” He made a slow circle through the room, then pointed at the floor. “Are those house plans?”

      “Yeah.” Allison led him back into the foyer. “The night after the first break-in, I noticed that this finial was crooked. Then I discovered the post is hollow. The house plans were inside.” She started to rest her hand on top of the newel post, then drew back. She wouldn’t touch anything until after they finished investigating.

      Hunter nodded. “They sometimes did that with these old Victorians, hid the house plans in a secret compartment in the newel post.”

      Blake raised his brows. That was an interesting tidbit.

      Allison was apparently as intrigued as he was. “You’ve heard of this?”

      Hunter flashed her a sheepish smile. “My little sister went through a stage where she was nuts over any and all things Victorian. She collected trinkets, played dress-up in period clothes and read everything she could get her hands on. And I learned all kinds of worthless information that I’ll probably never use, because she never shut up about it.”

      She returned his smile. “Well, it didn’t turn out to be totally worthless, because you just taught me something. Now when I go into a Victorian house, I’ll always wonder what might be hidden in the newel post.” She chewed her lower lip, suddenly serious. “If the intruder was hoping for treasure, he probably wasn’t too happy to find nothing but a roll of old house plans.”

      Which means he might be back. She didn’t finish the sentence aloud, but she was thinking it. It was all there in her eyes. The fear and uncertainty.

      Hunter stroked his chin with a thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. “Seems if he was just hoping for something in the newel post, he wouldn’t have searched any further. It’s as if he knew exactly what he was looking for.”

      He moved across the foyer toward the den. When he pushed open one of the double doors, Allison drew in a sharp breath. Blake looked over Hunter’s shoulder and understood. It looked as if every file had been removed from the file cabinet, the contents emptied.

      “Whoa.” Hunter turned to face her. “I’d say he was pretty determined to find something.”

      Allison didn’t respond. Blake studied her. Maybe she was just dazed. But something told him she knew more than she was telling them.

      Hunter continued his walk through the house, getting an overview before the real investigation started. When he swung open one of two mahogany doors next to the kitchen, a low whistle escaped his mouth. Blake stepped into the room, and the dusty scent of old books wrapped around him, mixed with the smell of varnish.

      It was a library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined three walls. But they were all empty. Teetering piles of books lay on the two stuffed chairs and all over the floor. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds.

      “This is a pretty impressive library you have here.”

      Allison nodded. “It is. At least it was. The fiction was all arranged by author last name, the nonfiction categorized and labeled according to the Dewey Decimal System. But I can’t take the credit. This was my grandparents’ collection. Even though there have been a couple of owners in between, apparently no one has been able to part with the books.”

      Hunter stepped up next to him. “Are we ready to tackle this mess?”

      Excitement swept through him. This was what he was made for—police work.

      “Deputize me, and I’m all yours.”

       THREE

      Allison watched the two officers work their way through her house. Hunter looked sharp and professional in his crisp navy pants and light blue polo shirt, embroidered with Cedar Key Police Department. He moved with confidence, dusting doorjambs and other surfaces, lifting prints and making note of each location.

      In khaki cargo shorts and a sailboat print shirt, Blake wasn’t dressed for the part, but everything else about him said cop. His dark eyes were alert as he scanned each room, and he exuded a sense of seriousness and concentrated focus. But there was something else, too—excitement and anticipation. Police work had been his life. Now she understood the fulfillment he had gained from his work. And the trauma of having it ripped from him. A pang of tenderness shot through her. Total upheaval—she had been there.

      As the two men moved toward the dining room, Blake’s limp appeared more pronounced than usual. He was apparently too focused on the investigation to think about trying to hide it. He circled the room, his gaze settling briefly on each item out of place. A pinkish-tan scar extended a couple of inches below the hem of his shorts, visible proof of the injury that had ended his career. It was the only visible СКАЧАТЬ