Page 14 of Lost Love Cove 2
MATT
The house felt still after the rush of voices and footsteps earlier, almost as though the very walls were waiting for the next piece of news to shatter the quiet. Matt stood with his back against the kitchen counter, his knuckles white against the edge of the granite, trying to calm his breathing. Outside, the first whispers of wind rattled the palm fronds against the windows, and he made a mental note to check his phone for warnings of a storm, as there hadn’t been any as far as he knew.
A snore drew his attention, and his eyes fell on Muttley stretched out on the kitchen rug, ears pricked and his eyes shut. His dark muzzle rested on outstretched paws as if he had no cares in the world. Not too far from his side lay Luna. Only she wasn’t sleeping, and her head kept twisting towards the windows as the wind tapped against them as if trying to tempt them to let it in.
Detective Andy Hardy sat stiffly at the kitchen table, an ice pack pressed to the back of his head where a purple bruise was already blooming beneath his close-cropped sandy hair. His police badge gleamed dully against the dark blue of his rumpled cotton shirt, which was now stained with sweat and flecked withbits of gravel. He had introduced himself properly after Carrie coaxed him inside, his handshake firm despite the tremor in his fingers. The young man had been shaken, eyes darting to the windows at every gust of wind, but he was determined to stay useful. His square jaw tightened each time he blinked, a muscle jumping beneath the day-old stubble, though he tried to cover his discomfort with a steady look from eyes the color of a stormy sea.
Carrie moved with her usual quiet efficiency. She set mugs of tea on the table and checked the detective’s injury again, her fingers precise and practiced. “You will be sore, but it’s not deep,” she told Andy. “And you’re going to have to call home if you have someone waiting there for you, as there are no more ferries tonight. Which is probably just as well, as you may pass out on one on the way back, so you need to stay put.”
Andy lifted his eyes. “The last one has gone?”
“That is what we were told by a local,” Carrie replied.
“Are you certain?” Andy frowned. “I was told the last ferry left at about nine in the evening.” His eyes filled with worry. “Where will I stay?”
"You can stay at my place," Matt told him, straightening so quickly his spine cracked. "Just to make sure there are no more ferries tonight, I'll call the port myself." He glanced at Carrie, and when she smiled at him—that slight curve of her lips, the flash of warmth in her eyes—his chest constricted as if gripped by an invisible fist. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out the wind's warning whispers. Matt wrenched his gaze away, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.
He bolted into the small study, fingers fumbling as he yanked the phone from its cradle. Each ring stretched like an eternity until finally a gruff voice cut through. Matt's words tumbled out, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles bleached white. The voice on the other end paused, then delivered news that hit Matt like a physical blow, the blood draining from his face as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.
"I’m sorry, sir," the man's voice rasped, suddenly dropping to a near-whisper. "We've got a monster of a storm brewing out there that was not in the forecast. It’s come out of nowhere. The wind is already snapping palms in half on the mainland. I've worked these waters for thirty years and never seen barometric pressure drop this fast. I’d say there are two hours—maybe less—before it hits Sunset Keys full force. We've locked down every vessel on the Key West side. The Coast Guard is pulling in the patrol boats. I’m sorry, sir, there's nothing crossing that channel until this passes."
Matt slammed the phone down, his fingers still locked around the receiver as if it were a lifeline. "Alisha," he gasped, his daughter's name escaping like a hiss through clenched teeth as his heart hammered against his ribs.
He punched in the numbers, his fingers slipping twice before he got it right. The ringing seemed to last forever before she answered, her voice a whisper.
"Dad, I'm at the movies."
"Get out. Now." The words scraped his throat raw. "Grab Maggie and Cody and run for the nearest hotel or safe shelter. There's a storm coming that wasn't on any forecast. The Coast Guard'spulling in boats. You have less than two hours before it hits, and I can't—" His voice cracked. "I can't get to you."
There was a pause. "I haven’t heard anything about that." Alisha's skeptical tone made Matt's gut twist. He gripped the phone tighter, fighting the urge to snap. Not now. Not when minutes mattered. His daughter had always needed proof, had always challenged every word he said, but tonight her questions could cost them everything.
Even as she spoke, the phone erupted with a shrill, pulsing alarm that made Matt flinch. Through the tinny speaker, he heard the theater's emergency system wailing its three-tone warning, followed by the sudden shuffle of feet and hushed, urgent voices. He could almost see the blue-white emergency lights strobing across frightened faces, popcorn buckets abandoned in cup holders, the movie frozen mid-scene on the massive screen as patrons rose from their seats in confused clusters.
“Now do you believe me?” Matt tried not to sound irritated.
When she spoke again, Alisha’s voice was more serious now. “Oh, no. They’re announcing it now.” He heard Cody and Maggie’s voices in the background, asking her what was going on. “We have to go find shelter,” she explained to them in a calm voice. “Dad, I have to go.”
"Go NOW!" Matt's voice cracked. "Get underground if you can—hotel basement, parking garage, anything solid. Text me your location as soon as you're safe. I need to know where to find you when this is over." His knuckles whitened around the phone as if he could physically hold onto her through it.
He slammed the phone down and staggered back to the kitchen, his legs wooden, lungs burning as if he'd sprinted miles. Carrie'shead snapped up, her eyes locking onto his face that had gone chalk-white.
"There’s a storm coming," Matt choked out, his voice raw. "They say it’s a category 3, maybe worse. Even the Coast Guard's pulling boats—nothing's crossing that water." His fist clenched against the doorframe until his knuckles cracked. "Alisha and the kids are trapped in Key West. The theater's emergency system just went off while I was on the phone. She's—" his voice broke, "—she's moving them to shelter now."
Carrie's shoulders dropped with relief, though her eyes still burned with worry.
"Alisha knows what to do," Matt added, his voice steadier than his trembling hands. "We've weathered Category 3s before. She'll find shelter—concrete walls, no windows. She'll keep them safe."
Carrie nodded but kept silent, her knuckles whitening around the ceramic mug, the tea inside rippling with each anxious breath she took.
Matt inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. "We need to prepare. Andy, do you think you can help us board up?"
Andy sprang to his feet at once, nodding and already rolling up his sleeves over muscled forearms. "Tell me what to do."
Together, the three of them hurried to Matt's place first. The dogs bounded along behind, hackles slightly raised, their energy restless with the changing air. They worked with practiced urgency, the rhythmic thwack of hammer meeting nail punctuating the growing moan of wind. Plywood sheets went up against the picture windows, and metal shutters clanged shut over the smaller ones. Their shoulders burned as they draggedfifty-pound sandbags to brace the door, the rough burlap leaving angry red marks on their palms. The wind carried a strange smell—salt mixed with something metallic and electric—as if the storm was already reaching out toward them with invisible fingers.
By the time they moved on to Carrie's house, the first gusts rattled through the palm trees, sending fronds cartwheeling across the yard like green tumbleweeds.
CARRIE
