Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (28 page)

“Because of Gabe,” Aidan piped up. “He made my . . . He made him leave.”

Jane’s eyes met Gabe’s. She swallowed, her throat moving, before she looked away. “Aidan has had enough excitement for today,” she said to Rossi. “Could he wait somewhere else?”

The chief nodded. “Hank, you want to take Aidan outside?”

Aidan clung to Jane. “I want to stay with Mom.”

“You come with me,” Hank said. “We’ll wait in the police car. You can talk to Marta on the radio.”

Jane whispered to Aidan. He slipped from the shelter of her arm and hopped from the bench, his shoulders hunched, his thin face pinched.

Gabe gave him a wink as they walked by. And was staggered when the boy launched at him, wrapping his arms around Gabe’s waist, holding on for dear life.

Gabe’s throat tightened. His hands closed protectively on Aidan’s shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be all right now. You go on with your grandfather.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Lucky’s still out in the truck. Think you could check on him for me?”

Aidan raised his head and nodded jerkily, releasing Gabe’s waist. Hank patted his shoulder, steering him toward the door.

Gabe watched them go.

“You’ll need to go to the magistrate and swear out an affidavit warrant that Tillett was actually here,” Rossi was saying to Jane. “You can also file for civil contempt at the clerk’s office, but—”

“You’re wasting time,” Gabe interrupted. “Why does she need to see a magistrate? Just arrest the son of a bitch.”

“We only have Jane’s statement that Tillett violated the protective order,” the chief said coolly. “Fortunately, that’s usually enough for the judge to find probable cause.”

Gabe’s blood went from a simmer to a boil. “You think she—we—made this up?”

Rossi’s face was impassive. “We want to go after this guy, we have to follow procedure.”

“It’s all right,” Jane said. “I don’t mind.”

“You need proof he was here, I can give you proof,” Gabe said. “I’ve got pictures.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed. “Show me.”

“They’re in the security camera out back.”

“Nice,” Rossi said, inspecting the setup a few minutes later. “When did you put this up?”

“Yesterday.”

Rossi’s brows rose. “Convenient.”

“I just found out about Tillett’s release the other day.” Gabe removed the SIM card from the camera and handed it to the chief. “There are pics on my phone, too, but the resolution’s not so good. These should be better.”

“Do you know what they are?”

“I saw the first few,” Gabe said. “After that, I was too busy to check my phone.”

The chief opened his laptop on the bakery table and
inserted the card. And there they were, in thumbnail, with a date and time stamp in the corner of every frame.

Jane, taking out the garbage.

Jane, scooping cat food from a plastic tub in a corner of the carport.

“The camera’s triggered by heat and motion,” Gabe explained. “It takes a full minute for it to send a photo to a cell phone and recover before it can be triggered again. So the pictures are going to be at least one minute apart. Longer, if nothing’s happening.”

A front view of a car parked under the basketball hoop.

“That’s Tillett,” Gabe said.

Rossi zoomed the shot. No license plate from this angle. He clicked the next image.

Gabe scowled. “Son of a bitch. He got inside before the camera reset.”

Jane leaned over Rossi’s shoulder. “That’s your truck,” she said to Gabe. “You and Aidan.”

Another click.

“There’s Travis,” Jane said. “Leaving.”

“Good shot of his face,” Rossi said.

Click.

“There he is again,” Gabe said.

Rossi frowned. “From another direction.”

Click.

Shit.

“Tell me about this one,” Rossi invited dryly.

Gabe suppressed a groan. Of course the camera
would
go off at the exact moment he had Tillett up against the side of his crappy car. “Doesn’t need much explanation.”

“You followed him out.”

“I wanted to make sure he didn’t come back.”

“You exchanged words,” Rossi said.

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

Gabe bared his teeth in a grin. “Don’t come back.”

“Is that all?”

Gabe locked eyes with the police chief. Rossi knew his record. He couldn’t hide the truth of who he was, from the police or himself. “I think my exact words were, ‘Come back, and I’ll kill you.’”

“Where’s his bag?” Jane asked suddenly, breaking the tension.

Rossi turned his head. “Excuse me?” He was a polite fucker.

“In the picture. Travis doesn’t have his bag.”

“So he dropped it,” Gabe said.
When I throttled him.

Rossi frowned and scrolled backward, forward, and backward again, slowly.

“He has it when he comes out,” Gabe said.

“But not here.” Rossi tapped the image of Tillett crossing the carport. “What’s that behind him?”

“A storage bin. For the cats’ food,” Jane said.

Gabe’s heart kicked into gear, his body reacting before his brain had analyzed the threat. Car bombs, roadside bombs, suspect packages. The memories detonated in flashes and pops.

Tillett’s gloating smile.
Did what I had to anyway.

He drew a quick, shallow breath. Rossi was saying something, a wordless rumble.

Jane touched his arm. “Gabe?”

He shook his head. “I have to . . .”
Go.
“Get out of here,” he ordered. “Go out front.”

Dear God, don’t let her get hurt. Don’t let me be too late.

He ran through the kitchen and burst out the back door, aware of Rossi’s footsteps thumping behind him. Of Aidan, somewhere out front in the patrol car with Hank. Of Jane.

Mostly, though, he thought about the bag with the bomb in it.

He should wait. Evacuate the area and wait. For what? There was no bomb squad on this island, no explosives expert at the front of the column with a mine detector. He didn’t know how much time he had.

He reached the plastic storage bin. Threw open the lid.

Yep, there it was, a scuffed-up black gym bag with . . . He eased open the zipper. The way Tillett had handled the bag, he didn’t expect it to blow.

Clothes. He tossed them aside.

And stared, bewildered, at the tightly wrapped brick inside. Plastic explosives? But no timer, no wires, no detonator, no tape.

Rossi came up behind him, saw the shrink-wrapped brick, and grunted in satisfaction. “We’ve got the bastard now. There’s enough there to put him away for a long, long time.”

“What is it? C4? Semtex?” Gabe asked.

“I need to do a field test to be sure.” Rossi smiled. “But my money’s on cocaine.”

“Y
OU
WANT
A
brownie to take home today, Leroy?” Jane asked.

Leroy smiled shyly, tucking his paper under his arm. “Not tonight, thanks, Janey. I got some pals coming over. Going to have some beers, play some cards, and tell some lies.”

“Is that right?” She was pleased that the widower was making friends, making changes in his routine. Moving on. There was a lesson there somewhere. She picked up his empty cup. “Well, you all have a good time.”

“Will do.” Leroy hesitated. “You and your little boy doing all right?”

The island grapevine at work again.

She smiled, touched by his concern. “We’re fine,” she assured him. “Thanks for asking.”

They would be fine, she told herself firmly. If she repeated the words often enough, maybe they’d come true.

She had said them over and over. To Lauren and Meg when they called last night. To Cynthie Lodge, who dropped off fried chicken, and Tess Fletcher, who delivered lasagna.
To Marta Lopez, who brought enchiladas for dinner. It was unexpectedly nice to have her friends and neighbors turn the tables, to realize that even when she wasn’t feeding them, they cared enough to provide for her.

Before she left, Marta enveloped Jane in a long, warm, perfume-scented hug.
Her father’s girlfriend.
Cradled against Marta’s soft, solid body, Jane felt the shell holding her together start to crack. Tears pricked her eyes. When was the last time she’d been hugged by an adult woman like that? Like a mother.

“Sorry,” she apologized, pulling away. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Marta patted her cheek. “You’ve had quite a day. You can stand a little coddling.”

Jane nodded. Aidan needed coddling, too.

That night, she sat for a long time on the side of his bed. rubbing his back, breathing in his salty-sweet little-boy smell.

Aidan turned his head restlessly on the pillow. “Where’s Gabe? I wanted him to read me a story.”

Jane swallowed the lump in her throat. “He had to take care of Lucky,” she answered, smoothing the fine, straight hair from her son’s forehead. “We’ll see him tomorrow.”

She hoped.

Something was bothering Gabe. She could see it in the shadow of his eyes, in the flatness of his mouth. Last night, focused on Aidan, she hadn’t had time to get to the bottom of whatever it was.

But she would find the time and the courage today.

If he ever came in.

He walked into the bakery right before close, and her heart lurched, the surge of love and lust and relief almost making her dizzy.

“Hi,” she said.
Not a great opening.
She should have kissed him. “I missed you last night.”

His face stayed somber. “I thought you and Aidan could use some time alone.”

Oh. Well, that was considerate. Wasn’t that what she kept telling him? She needed more space. More time.

Was that what was bothering him?

“Aidan missed you, too,” she said.

“I brought him something. I thought maybe he could use . . .”

Love
, she thought.
Security. Therapy. A father.

“A distraction,” Gabe finished. He held up a bag from the Treasure Chest, the island gift shop. “It’s the new Lego Avengers set.”

That would work, too.
“He’ll love it,” Jane said. “But you don’t need to buy him things.”

He glanced toward the corner, looking for Aidan the way Aidan had watched for him last night, the gesture so natural, so automatic, it stopped her heart. “Where is he?”

“I made an appointment for him with Lauren Patterson after school today. The counselor?”

“Good idea.”

“I wondered . . .” She wiped sweaty palms on her apron.
You have plenty of courage
, Gabe had told her.
What you need is a little faith in yourself. In me.
“Do you want to go outside? To talk?”

Another of those unreadable looks. “I don’t want to bother you.”

She blinked. “Not
bother
me?” After everything he’d done? She thought they were past that.

Or maybe not.

Her fault. She was the one constantly setting limits on their relationship. She couldn’t blame Gabe if he’d finally decided to listen to her.

“Lindsey, I’ll be out front,” she called to the girl behind the counter. She grabbed two bottles of water and a cupcake and carried them to one of the picnic tables.

“This looks new,” Gabe said, eyeing the cupcake.

“Mocha with espresso buttercream.” She waited while he tasted it. “Do you like it?”

“Mm.” He swallowed, that deep appreciation in his eyes, the smile that made her feel so good about her baking and herself. “I’d have to try it five or six more times to be sure.”

Her face eased. She smiled back.

“I talked to Luke last night,” he said abruptly. “He said the Elizabeth City cops are looking for Tillett.”

She took a deep breath. “Dad told me. He said between the likely drug charges and violating the protective order, Travis will be back in jail for a long time.”

“How’s Aidan?” Gabe asked.

He’ll be fine.

She pleated her fingers together. “He’s upset,” she heard herself say. “I thought it was a good thing that Travis wasn’t part of his life. I thought I was doing the right thing, shielding him.”

“You’re doing great. You’re a great mom.”

She threw him a grateful look. “Thanks. But I let him build up this picture in his head of who his father was. Seeing Travis yesterday . . . it shook him.”

“A father is supposed to love you. To look out for you,” Gabe murmured. “It’s hard to let that go.”

Understanding cracked her heart in two—for her son, for Gabe—and both halves ached. Because whatever Aidan was feeling, Gabe had lived through worse.

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Would you talk to him?”

He hesitated. “I thought you set him up with that counselor’s appointment.”

“I did.”

“Then he doesn’t need me.”

But he did. They both did.

She squeezed Gabe’s fingers. “You understand him. He looks up to you.”

Gabe looked down at her hand covering his. “I’m not used to that.”

She frowned. But whatever she might have said was
crushed by the crunch of gravel and oyster shells. Sunlight flashed off the windshield of a car turning into the bakery lot.

Her father’s patrol car, with another marked vehicle behind him.

The black-and-white parked on the edge of the grass. The door swung open, and Hank got out. “We need to talk,” her father said.

*   *   *

G
ABE
GLANCED
FROM
the two patrol vehicles to Hank, in rumpled uniform and mirrored sunglasses, and Luke, pressed and serious.

There was a third guy with them, wearing a cheap suit like a cut-rate lawyer.

“This can’t be good,” Jane said to her father. “You never want to talk.”

Hank didn’t smile.

Uh-oh.

Gabe forced down his misgivings and looked at Luke. “You bringing reinforcements to buy doughnuts now?”

“This is Detective Pete Chadwick of the Elizabeth City Police Department,” said his oldest friend in the world. “He’d like to talk to you.”

Gabe’s lungs tightened. It was as though the past ten months, the last five weeks, had never happened. It was his worst nightmare.

It was worse.

Because now he had more to lose.

He’d been waiting for this moment, for something like this, since he left the Williams County Jail, since he came to Dare Island, since Jane had looked at him yesterday with fear and doubt in her eyes. Like he was a dog that might bite. He didn’t know yet what was going on. But he was pretty sure who was going to get the blame.

Jane stood. “What is it? Is it Travis?”

“In a way,” Luke said.

“He’s dead,” Hank said. “Found shot in a burned-out car in Elizabeth City this morning.”

Aw, shit.

Jane swayed slightly on her feet, locking her hands together in front of her. He moved closer, willing her his support.

“Are they sure?” she asked.

“You’re not asking her to look at the body,” Gabe said to Luke.

“No need,” Hank said. “Whoever torched the car did a piss-poor job. Or maybe they got scared off.” He shrugged. “Anyway, there was enough left to ID.”

Jane sucked in a distressed breath.

Gabe’s muscles bunched to defend her. But the enemy was dead.

And he could hardly slug her dad for breaking the news like an insensitive asshole.

Detective Chadwick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss. Maybe we could continue this talk at the station. Mr. Murphy?”

Gabe shoved his hands in his pockets. Out of trouble. “You bringing me in?”

“To help with the investigation,” Luke said. “You want to ride in the squad car, that’s your choice. Or you can drive your truck.”

Gabe bared his teeth in a battle grin. “Sure I’m not a flight risk?”

“You’re a moron,” Hank said.

“This isn’t right,” Jane said.

“Easy, girl,” Hank said. “You don’t have to defend him. Though if you did, ‘he needed killing’ used to work fine with most juries around here.”

Jane whirled on her father, crossing her arms. “You are not helping.”

“It’s okay,” Gabe said.

One lesson he’d learned in the Marines was that things could blow up in your face at any time. Just when you thought
you were safe—
Mission accomplished
—the situation could always go to hell.

The only thing he could do was make it easier on her. Easier on them both.

“It is not okay.” Jane glared at Luke. “And you. You’re his friend. You know Gabe had nothing to do with this.”

Not like ten months ago, Gabe realized, his chest expanding. Or even five weeks ago.

Because Jane had his back. Because she trusted him. Believed in him.

He grinned at her.

“Nobody’s saying he did,” Hank said.

“Then why the police escort?” Gabe asked.

Luke threw him an amused, exasperated glance. “Why do you think? I came to hold your hand, pal.”

“So I’m not a suspect,” Gabe said, testing.

“Nope,” Hank said. “Tillett got killed over the cocaine in his gym bag.”

Chadwick shot him an annoyed look. “Any other details you want to disclose to compromise the investigation? We’re still ascertaining the facts,” he said to Gabe. “But given Tillett’s known associates in prison . . .”

“Got mixed up with a biker gang,” Hank said cheerfully.

“We’re treating his murder as a gang-related crime,” Chadwick finished.

Because, yeah, Gabe bet the bikers didn’t appreciate being ripped off by a new member.

“I’ve already read your statements from yesterday,” Chadwick said. “I’d like to talk to you, too, ma’am. I just have a few follow-up questions. Your testimony could be extremely helpful.”

Gabe looked at Jane, standing pale and straight. She was holding it all together, dealing with it the way she dealt with everything, but the combination of a dead ex with a crime investigation was a lot for anybody to handle. “Can you give us a minute?”

Chadwick pursed his lips. “It’s already been twenty-four hours since the incident. The less time that elapses, the better.”

He talked like a dick.

Gabe stuck his thumbs in his belt loops. “What, are you afraid we’ll get our stories mixed up? Or are you in a hurry to get home to dinner?”

The detective flushed red.

So, yeah. One—maybe both—of those things.

“I can talk with you now,” Jane said clearly. “If you can pick up Aidan, Dad. Whatever will help.”

God, she was something. So brave in her quiet way, so determined to do the right thing, to bear witness to her ex-husband’s crime and seek justice for his killer.

He couldn’t protect her from what had happened, couldn’t shield her from reliving the events of yesterday afternoon with the stiff-necked detective.

But he could be there for her, as much as they would let him. And he would be there for Aidan.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll follow you in my truck.”

*   *   *

J
ANE
COULD
FEEL
the coiled tension in Gabe as he sat beside her in the outer office of the police department, waiting for Marta to finish typing their statements so they could sign them and go home. Hank had left to pick up Aidan from his counseling appointment.

Gabe’s knee jiggled and was ruthlessly stilled. “I hate police stations,” he muttered.