There was just one problem with that theory. Andy was the most conscientious, levelheaded kid she’d ever known. And he was scared. There had been no mistaking the fear in his voice.
Maybe she could get home sooner than October. She pulled out the calendar of auction dates and other appointments that were already scheduled for her and Marcel. July and August, the supposedly dead days of summer, were crammed with commitments. Early September was even worse. Maybe by the middle of September, she concluded, penciling in her trip on a weekend that looked clear at the moment.
But even as she went back to unpacking the new inventory, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she ought to find some way to make that trip sooner.
2
There weren’t a lot of big-time criminals in Winter Cove, and that was just the way Police Chief Matthew Atkins liked it. After working in the worst sections of Tampa for nearly ten years, he’d been more than ready to come home to Winter Cove, where arguing with citizens over parking ticket fines seemed to fill the bulk of his days.
Because most of the people in town had known him since he was in diapers, they seemed to think he owed them a favor. Hell, maybe he did. They’d all done their part to make sure he stayed out of any serious trouble, even after his no-account father had headed off to jail and his mother had all but disappeared into a bottle of booze.
No one in town had been kinder to him than the Killians. Rosa Killian had seen to it that he had something to eat and Don had given him not only work, but a strong sense of the man he could become despite his background. Together, the two of them had taught him that a marriage didn’t have to be volatile and that there was no place for violence in love.
Flamingo Diner had become Matt’s refuge, a place to go in the morning before school for a healthy meal and in the afternoon to avoid home and the steady parade of men who passed through his mother’s life. It had given him a surrogate family, not only the Killians, but all of the regulars who came there each and every day for food and gossip before work. He’d also met tourists from all over the world, which had broadened his view of life and reminded him that what he’d endured at home wasn’t the way it had to be.
The diner had also been the place where he’d fallen in love. Emma Killian with her huge brown eyes and cloud of dark hair had been sweet and sassy, and completely oblivious to the fact that Matt was head-over-heels crazy about her. She’d treated him with the same easygoing affection she showed her brothers. Even now, thinking about the torment of it made him sigh.
Of course, it was just as well. It had been clear from the start that the one thing in life Don wouldn’t give Matt was his approval for the often reckless, troubled young man to date Emma.
And, Matt was forced to admit, Don had been right. Not only was he four years older than Emma, but at that point he hadn’t proved that any of her father’s lessons had stuck. He’d had his father’s quick temper and his mother’s lack of self-esteem. It had been a dangerous combination. Back then, he’d needed to leave town and find his way in the world, to make something of himself before he could possibly have anything to offer a woman.
It had taken him a year of working odd jobs in Tampa before he’d been drawn into police work. During his training, he’d learned to defuse his own temper at the same time he’d learned how to defuse a tense domestic standoff.
Now he was back home with a respectable job, more than ready to settle down and raise a family, and Emma was still out of reach. And since it had been nearly ten years since he’d seen her, his feelings for her were more nostalgic than real. She was like an illusion, one he couldn’t seem to shake. Every time some other woman caught his attention, every time he considered making a commitment, an image of Emma popped up and forced him to reconsider. It was not only pathetic, it was damned annoying.
As annoying as it was, though, it had been motivation enough to get him to say yes when he’d been approached about the police chief’s job in Winter Cove a few months back. It hadn’t hurt that the mayor had sent Don Killian to Tampa to do the asking.
Over the years Matt had come back to Winter Cove from time to time, so there had been little in Don’s practiced pitch that surprised him. He’d seen for himself that the sleepy little Central Florida town was growing, that its downtown was turning trendy with sidewalk cafés and the sort of unique little boutiques that appealed to tourists. The trailer parks and orange groves on the outskirts of town were slowly dying out and being replaced with golf courses lined by expensive townhouses. There were Sunday concerts by the lake during the cooler spring months, a winter arts festival, and an old-fashioned strawberry festival that now drew thousands, but somehow managed to maintain its small-town appeal.
Don had mentioned all of that when he’d come to Tampa to see Matt. He’d handed over a fancy, four-color brochure touting Winter Cove’s charms along with a packet of promotional material and statistical information put together by the mayor’s staff.
“Pretty slick stuff,” Matt had noted, watching closely for Don’s reaction.
“Bunch of damned nonsense,” Don had replied succinctly. “You’d think Habersham would know better. This isn’t the kind of thing that’ll get you to come back to Winter Cove.”
Matt had grinned. “What do you think will get me back there?”
“A chance to prove that you’ve made something of yourself,” Don told him without hesitation. “Not that you need to prove anything to anybody, but I’ve known you a long time, son. You’ve had a chip on your shoulder thanks to those folks of yours. This is your chance to get rid of it once and for all, especially now that your mother’s moved on to Orlando.”
That had been news to Matt. He’d made it a point not to stay in touch with her. “When did that happen?”
“A few months back.” Don had regarded Matt intently, then added, “When your daddy got out of jail.”
Matt had felt as if he’d been sucker punched. “She’s back with that lying, scheming, abusive son of a bitch?”
“Hiding out from him, more than likely,” Don replied. “He’s come through town once or twice asking questions about her and about you, but he’s been smart enough not to stick around. He knows people in Winter Cove haven’t forgotten what he did to your mother and to you.”
Clyde Atkins had been a mean drunk. He’d have gone on using Matt’s mother for a punching bag, if Matt hadn’t stepped in between them one night. Not yet thirteen and scrawny, Matt had been no match for his bigger, angrier father, but the resulting commotion had drawn the attention of neighbors and the police. A whole slew of charges had been filed against Clyde, and this time they’d stuck. Matt had seen to it that his mother didn’t withdraw them at the last second as she had in the past. And even if she had, his own bruises, carefully recorded by the police the night of the incident, would have been enough to convict the bastard.
Until that moment when he’d learned of his father’s release from jail, Matt thought he’d put all of that behind him, but the swell of anger and bitterness in his chest had told him otherwise. His father had made his childhood a living hell, and his mother hadn’t done much to help. He’d spent every day since trying to live down the reputation he’d inherited from the two of them.
He met Don’s understanding gaze. “You think I should take the job, don’t you?”
“I think you should give it some serious thought, for your own sake and for the town. Winter
