Page 9 of Lost Love Cove 3
The bedside clock's red digits, 3:17 a.m., seemed to mock her restlessness. Sleep had slipped further from her grasp with each passing hour, chased off by the memory of the letters she and Matt Parker had opened earlier, its ink bleeding at the edges, paper still damp from the first bands of rain. The words had burned themselves into her mind, stark black against cream-colored stationery.
Twenty-four hours.
The threat still echoed.Twenty-four hours.She had repeated it silently until her chest felt tight, as if someone had cinched a belt around her ribs, each breath growing shallower than the last. Her pulse had lodged in her throat like a trapped bird, wingsbeating against the confines of her skin, the rhythm so intense she could hear it in her ears, drowning out even the storm's fury.
Carrie finally pushed the covers back. She swung her legs to the floor and pulled on sweats, the familiar weight of responsibility sitting heavier than the cotton fabric. Quietly, she padded down the hallway. Luna rose from her spot at the bedroom door, stretching long and low before padding after her. The dog’s nails clicked lightly against the wood.
On the stairs, the shadows twisted with every flicker of lightning, painting sharp silhouettes across the walls. The storm pressed in, closer than it had earlier, and with it came the sensation of being watched. But she shook it off and put it down to the distorted shadows being cast by the wind bending the trees. Carrie kept her steps light, steadying her breath as she reached the ground floor.
She headed for Trevor’s home office, determined to try to find any hidden disk or documents as referenced in the chilling letter that had been sent to her. The study door creaked faintly as she eased it open, and she glanced down the hallway, ensuring she hadn’t disturbed Andy and Oscar, who were sleeping in the living room. Luna stretched and then trotted toward the kitchen, leaving Carrie alone.
Carrie slipped quietly into the room, the hardwood floor cool beneath her bare feet. She eased the mahogany door closed with a barely audible click. Her fingers found the slim metal flashlight in her pocket, its weight reassuring against her palm. She flicked it on, the narrow beam cutting through darkness like a silver knife, illuminating dust motes dancing above leather-bound volumes and the gleaming surface of Trevor's cherrywood desk.
The beam caught the edge of a brass letter opener, sending a golden reflection across the ceiling. She froze mid-step when a second beam—brighter, wider—hit her square in the chest, pinning her like an insect to a board. A gasp escaped her lips, the sound harsh in the storm-muffled silence, and she closed her eyes against the blinding light, her heart pounding with such force she could feel each pulse in her fingertips.
“Couldn’t resist, huh?” a deep, low voice whispered.
She jerked the flashlight down, her heart still hammering against her ribs. "Good Grief, Matt!" The whisper tore from her throat, sharp as broken glass. Her free hand pressed against her chest where adrenaline burned like acid.
"What the heck are you doing here?" Carrie whispered.
Matt tilted his light away. “The same as you, I’m guessing. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d see if I could find the disk or documents. Maybe a safe or a clue.”
Carrie's lungs burned as she forced a slow exhale, her fingers still trembling against her chest. "Yes, that darn letter keeps swirling around in my head too," she whispered, voice raw. "I haven't closed my eyes without seeing those words." She stepped closer, the flashlight beam quivering across the desk's polished surface. "If Trevor did take something, I’m guessing it’s incriminating enough for whoever wants it back to threaten us over it.” Her eyes darted around the room. “I wish I could call Lori and ask her if Trevor left her anything… unusual. Like a key, or a cryptic note.”
“He could’ve hidden it,” Matt stated the obvious and slid his hand beneath the desk, looking for a secret button or hidden compartment.
“I don’t think Trevor was the type to have hidden compartments,” Carrie told him, but then again, she didn’t think Trevor was capable of fraud.
“There’s no harm in looking.” Matt’s voice was quiet, steady. He stood and moved to the other side of the desk. “I don’t feel anything.”
Carrie moved to the bookshelf that lined one side of the wall where Lori had left the rows of heavy books. She ran her hand over the volumes, sliding a few forward to test if anything shifted. Nothing. She tried the edges of the skirting boards, searching for unnatural seams.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Carrie hissed, spinning around, surprised to see that Matt had moved nearer to her, testing the volumes on the other side of the bookshelf. “It seems so surreal.”
“Carrie,” Matt interrupted her softly, moving closer to her until he was standing right in front of her.
Carrie’s heart picked up speed as he was so close she could feel the heat from his body and smell the soft fragrance of soap. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, and curled the fingers of her free hand into fists. Her nails were biting into her palms to calm her runaway emotions.
His voice was kept at a low, grave whisper. “I think it’s time to address the elephant in the room.” His eyes met Carrie’s and held them. “I know Lori is your good friend…”
“Best.” Lori corrected him. “Loriismy best friend and has been nearly all my life.”
“This must be so hard for you.” Matt gave her a soft smile. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” he stated. “But the fact is, Trevor was the agent who sold me my property.” She could see that even he was struggling to pin this on Trevor. “I didn’t know the man as well as you must have. But…” His brow knitted. “Even I can’t believe he’d be capable of doing something like fraudulently selling me a long-term ground lease as an outright sale.”
Carrie ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath. “Yes, you’re right. It is very hard to try to see Trevor as a criminal.” Her jaw clenched. “But I also can’t ignore all the evidence and everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four or so hours.”
“Then it could also be possible that Trevor had a hidden compartment somewhere,” Matt reasoned.
Carrie’s eyes searched his for a moment, and it made sense. “Lori did say she'd gone through every paper in this office after Trevor died.” She tilted her head and looked past Matt, shining her flashlight over the top of the desk. “Lori just uses this room to write in now.” Her voice caught. “She’s writing her memoir,” she gave a soft laugh. “Lori says that sitting in Trevor’s office writing it makes her feel closer to him.”
“I can understand that,” Matt said, his voice wobbled with a hint of sadness. “It’s been over four years since…” He hesitated, cleared his throat. “Since my wife, Sherri, passed away.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned her to Carrie, and her heart went out to him. While she’d felt for Lori over the loss of Trevor, what she had felt was not nearly as bad as Lori and Matt felt losing the person they had loved and chosen to spend their life with. Carrie had suffered a different kind of loss when she and her ex-husband, Connor Ryder, had split up twelve years ago.Carrie had never taken Connor’s surname, as both of them had careers in the police force. They had both agreed it would be better, especially as she had aspirations of moving through the ranks while Connor only ever wanted to be a detective.
Their divorce had been an amicable one because they had simply grown apart, but they had remained good friends. Their house in Boston had belonged to Carrie’s parents; her mother had been an attorney, and her father a surgeon. They had been left the house by Carrie’s paternal grandfather, who had worked his way up the ranks in the FBI and had bought the house when he’d gotten his first big promotion with the bureau. So she’d stayed there with the kids, and Connor had moved into an apartment nearer the police station in Boston, where they had both worked.
Carrie had become one of the youngest police captains at the Boston PD and moved to a different precinct than Connor. Ten years ago, Carrie had inherited her Aunt’s house in Nantucket, called Martha’s house, located in Sunrise Cove. The memory drew a small smile to Carrie’s lips. She’d joked that Lori had moved to Sunset Keys and Carrie was going to retire one day in Sunrise Cove, Nantucket. But two years later, she was offered the position as police chief in Nantucket, around the same time Connor had announced there was a new woman in his life. Carrie had been really surprised at how much that information had hurt. Connor, although they had been divorced for years, came around each night to have dinner at the house with Carrie and their twins. He never missed one of their games, recitals, graduations, and spent every Easter, Christmas, New Year, and birthday with them.
