Page 1 of Lost Love Cove 4
1
MATT
Matt and Carrie stood gaping at the man lying unconscious on the floor. Ian looked older than he had earlier, which was astonishing, given that only a few hours had passed. His skin had the gray of someone who had been pushed past his limit and then pushed again. A livid welt rose along one temple as if some earlier blow had caught him there. Whatever had happened between the dinghy leaving Lost Love Cove and this moment had not been simple.
“Is he breathing?” Carrie asked, already kneeling at Ian’s other side.
Matt touched the side of Ian’s neck. A pulse beat there, thin but steady. “Yes. He’ll be groggy when he comes around. The taser did its job.”
Carrie took a long, careful breath and set the taser on the nightstand out of easy reach. “We need to get him downstairs. I want him where we can see him and he is restrained with Andy keeping an eye on him.”
“I’ll handle the knife.” Matt stood and was about to turn to get something to pick it up with, but Carrie stopped him.
“Wait, we need to photograph this,” Carrie told him. “I don’t want anything to come back on us.”
Matt nodded, pulled out his phone, and took a few pictures before going through to the bathroom and finding a clean washcloth. Back in the room, he used it to pick up the knife by the tip and set it on the dresser. “I will bring him down. Are you okay?”
Carrie met his eyes and nodded once. The tremor had passed from her shoulders; the set of her mouth told him she was okay, and he gave her a warm smile before turning back to the unconscious Ian. He lifted Ian and settled the man across his shoulders. The second man he’d carried that night. However, the weight felt different from that of the man downstairs. Ian was taller and heavier through the chest. Matt stood, made sure his footing was firm, and then nodded toward the door. “After you.”
Carrie led the way into the hall and down the stairs, moving backward when Matt needed the railing. The dogs met them at the landing, tails wagging, then fell into step at Carrie’s heels as if they understood the importance of keeping close. Andy stood near the fireplace with the poker in his hand, a ring of heat restored around the hearth. He turned, and his eyes widened in astonishment when he saw the man over Matt’s shoulders.
“What on earth?” Andy said, gaping.
Carrie gave him a quick rundown of what happened, and while she spoke, Andy jolted into action, setting the poker down at once and hurried to clear the second sofa where he’d been sleeping hours ago, before Oscar had gone on his storm run.
“Set him here,” Andy said. “So this is Ian Marshall?”
Matt lowered Ian as carefully as he could. “Yes.
Andy’s brows shot up toward his hairline, and he glanced up at Carrie as he noticed the bruising on Ian’s face. “You didn’t do that.”
Carrie shook her head. “No. He didn’t have marks on his face when we sent him off with Detective Lawrence this afternoon either.”
“Which means he got them somewhere between Detective Lawrence disappearing and him breaking into your house,” Andy observed.
Carrie nodded as Matt asked, “Carrie, where is the first-aid kit?”
“In the kitchen, top right cabinet,” Carrie answered.
“Before the lights came back on, I put water on in that big cast-iron pot.” Andy pointed to the pot hanging over the fire. “It’s nearly hot.”
“I’ll get the kit,” Matt said, already turning. He moved quickly through the familiar kitchen, found the white metal box where Carrie had said it would be, and carried it back.
Carrie knelt between the two sofas, one holding Oscar, who lay with a wet towel under his head, the other holding Ian, who was beginning to stir. “We need to restrain both of them,” she said.
Andy nodded and went to where he’d put his cuffs and pulled some cable ties from his suit jacket. Matt and Carrie turned to Oscar.
“His leg is a mess,” Carrie noted, looking at the wound. “I’m not a doctor, but that looks like it needs some stitches and…”She examined the ankle. “I’ve seen enough broken and sprained ankles in my life to know that’s a very bad sprain.” She glanced up at Matt. “Can you pass me a pair of gloves?” She looked at Andy. “If you could get some warm water and pour some of that disinfectant into it we can get this wound cleaned and properly bandaged.”
The two men nodded and did as she asked. Carrie cleaned and dressed the gash on Oscar’s thigh that Matt had wrapped in the storm, Andy cut away the ruined cloth and laid clean towels beneath, and Matt checked pupils and airways, then arranged pillows to prop up the leg. The dogs circled once and then lay down near the hearth, eyes open and heads on their paws, as if they had decided guard duty suited them.
Ian groaned. His eyelids fluttered, and he turned his face away from the light. When he tried to sit, Carrie set a hand to his shoulder and spoke in the same low tone she used with witnesses who had not decided whether to trust her. “Don’t move too fast.”
“What…” Ian swallowed. “What happened?”
“We should be asking you that!” Andy’s voice was low, his eyes narrowed steely on the man. “You went into Captain Ware’s bedroom with a knife.” His eyes never left Ian. “You’re lucky you just got tasered.”
Ian’s gaze slid to Carrie. Confusion came first, then the quick tightening of a man who remembered more than he wanted to. Then his eyes landed on Oscar.
