Page 1 of Lost Love Cove 3
1
MATT
The wind had begun to howl through the palms when Matt drove the final nail into the plywood, his knuckles white around the worn handle of his hammer. The metal head rang against the board with a sharp, definitive crack, then the sound was swallowed by the rush of the storm outside—a low, threatening moan that rattled the wind chimes and sent loose fronds skittering across the deck. Andy stood beside him, forearms flexing as he held the next sheet steady against Carrie's porch window, his white cotton shirt already dark with sweat despite the cooling air. Together they pressed it into place, the muscles in their arms straining against the push of the rising gusts that smelled of salt and rain and something electric.
"Hold it there," Matt said, swinging again.
The hammer's steel head caught the last of the fading light as it arced through the humid air. Each strike sent vibrations up Matt’s forearm, the nails sinking into the weathered plywood with reluctant groans until the board secured itself flush against the frame. A fine mist of salt spray—harbinger of the storm's fury—peppered his face as the barrier sealed, the taste of the ocean sharp on his lips.
Muttley paced behind them, his chocolate-brown nails clicking a nervous rhythm against the wooden deck, his tail tucked low between his haunches. His ears flicked back with each distant thunderclap like radar dishes tracking danger, the whites of his eyes flashing with each turn. Luna crouched low near the doorframe, her eyes fixed on the windows as she released a deep, rumbling growl whenever the shutters rattled against their hinges. Her chest expanded and contracted with each warning, the vibration rippling through her silky dotted coat like the storm's own early warning system, her whiskers twitching with the changing barometric pressure.
Matt dragged the sweat-soaked sleeve of his shirt across his forehead, leaving a smear of sawdust and grime that mingled with the salt spray on his skin. He squinted against the dimming light at Andy, whose own white cotton shirt now clung to his muscled frame like a second skin. "That should do this side," Matt said, his voice nearly lost in a sudden gust that rattled the newly secured plywood. "One more window before this thing really hits."
Andy nodded, sweat trickling down his temple where a purple-green bruise bloomed beneath his hairline. The younger man had worked without complaint, his movements precise despite the wind that now bent palm fronds horizontal and flung sand against their calves like tiny needles.
Together, they hefted the last sheet of plywood to the final pane, fingers gripping the splintered edges as the first fat raindrops pelted their shoulders. Matt hammered steadily, each strike reverberating through the bones of his wrist and up his arm, the sound swallowed immediately by a thunderclap that seemed toanswer from within his own chest, as if the storm itself were hammering back.
When they finished, Matt leaned against the railing for a moment to catch his breath before they moved indoors. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the first spatters of rain. The house felt eerily quiet after the howl of wind outside, the only sound the distant tick of the clock on the mantel and the dogs' anxious panting. He scanned the empty living room, its hurricane lamps already lit against the gathering darkness, then checked the kitchen, where copper pots hung untouched above the island, the air still fragrant with the latest coffee brewing before there was no electricity.
“Carrie must still be in the study,” Matt said.
“You go find her,” Andy told him. “I can finish the last boards in the dining room.”
“Okay,” Matt said with a nod. “I’ll join you in a bit. I want to check in with her.”
Andy's footsteps faded down the hallway as Matt thrust his raw, burning hands under the faucet. Cold water sluiced away grime and sweat, revealing angry red welts where the hammer had bitten into his palm. He scrubbed viciously at the black crescents under his nails, heart hammering with the storm's rising fury. The paper towel rasped against his face as he stalked toward Trevor's office, the disconnection tone piercing the air before he even reached the half-open door.
His knuckles barely grazed the wood when he saw her—Carrie, statue-still, the phone white-knuckled in her grip, her face drained of all color. The blood in his veins turned to ice. Her eyes, usually so sharp and present, stared through him, throughthe wall, through reality itself, until they suddenly snapped to his face with the jarring clarity of someone waking from a nightmare.
Matt's body went rigid, a jolt of adrenaline searing through his veins as he lunged toward her, crossing the room in two desperate strides. "Carrie!" His voice cracked with urgency, the single word torn from his throat. "What happened?"
Carrie shook her head quickly, then stopped mid-motion, her fingers tightening around the phone as though it might still connect her to the voice on the other end. "The storm has cut out the lines again," she said, but her eyes darted to the window, watching the trees bend. "The call dropped, but—" She pressed her lips together, not finishing the thought as she put the phone back on the cradle. “I couldn’t finish the call…” Her eyes fell to the phone, staring at it like she was trying to figure it out. “I…” She closed her eyes and swallowed.
Matt rounded the desk and instinctively put his arm around her. “Who was on the phone?”
“My son… Trent.” Carrie tilted her head and looked at him. “He’s FBI. He’s stranded in Key West. Trent was only supposed to be here in a week's time, but he got off early and now he’s stranded in Key West.”
Matt’s brow furrowed as he watched Carrie. She seemed disoriented and not the level-headed police captain he’d witnessed the whole day.
“Are you worried about your son?” His brow knitted tighter. “If he’s FBI, I’m sure he’ll be alright.”
“Oh, yes of course,” Carrie said, nodding. Her eyes started misting with unshed tears, and her voice cracked. “It’s not Trent I’m worried about… it’s…it’s the kids and Alisha.”
Matt saw the tremor in her hand as she pushed a stray lock of hair back from her cheek. He felt the punch of helplessness in his chest. She was thinking about the children and his daughter, but that wouldn’t have rattled her like this… surely not!
Matt gave her a light hug, ignoring the zing that shot through his arm as he reassured her, “Alisha and the kids will be okay. She knows what to do.”
Carrie drew in a shaky breath. “No, they won’t be,” she breathed, startling Matt.
“Carrie…” Matt stepped back, realizing that she wasn’t just fazed by whatever she’d heard on the phone; she was in shock. “What has happened?” He kept his voice as calm and level as he could, feeling his own panic start to rise.
“Trent…” Carrie cleared her throat, her eyes slowly focusing and clearing as the shock started to wear off. “I asked Trent to call Alisha and go find her and the kids. To make sure they were all safe. I knew they would be with him.”
“That was a good call,” Matt replied.
“He found Alisha within minutes.” Carrie’s eyes searched his. “But…” She swallowed, and her voice broke. “Alisha has been knocked out, and the kids were gone… The man… the man who was following them must’ve done it.”
Matt stiffened. His heart jolted and then started hammering against his chest. “What man was following them?”
