Flamingo Diner

It had taken him a year of working odd jobs in Tampa before he’d been drawn into police work. During his training, he’d learned to defuse his own temper at the same time he’d learned how to defuse a tense domestic standoff.

Now he was back home with a respectable job, more than ready to settle down and raise a family, and Emma was still out of reach. And since it had been nearly ten years since he’d seen her, his feelings for her were more nostalgic than real. She was like an illusion, one he couldn’t seem to shake. Every time some other woman caught his attention, every time he considered making a commitment, an image of Emma popped up and forced him to reconsider. It was not only pathetic, it was damned annoying.

As annoying as it was, though, it had been motivation enough to get him to say yes when he’d been approached about the police chief’s job in Winter Cove a few months back. It hadn’t hurt that the mayor had sent Don Killian to Tampa to do the asking.

Over the years Matt had come back to Winter Cove from time to time, so there had been little in Don’s practiced pitch that surprised him. He’d seen for himself that the sleepy little Central Florida town was growing, that its downtown was turning trendy with sidewalk cafés and the sort of unique little boutiques that appealed to tourists. The trailer parks and orange groves on the outskirts of town were slowly dying out and being replaced with golf courses lined by expensive townhouses. There were Sunday concerts by the lake during the cooler spring months, a winter arts festival, and an old-fashioned strawberry festival that now drew thousands, but somehow managed to maintain its small-town appeal.

Don had mentioned all of that when he’d come to Tampa to see Matt. He’d handed over a fancy, four-color brochure touting Winter Cove’s charms along with a packet of promotional material and statistical information put together by the mayor’s staff.

“Pretty slick stuff,” Matt had noted, watching closely for Don’s reaction.

“Bunch of damned nonsense,” Don had replied succinctly. “You’d think Habersham would know better. This isn’t the kind of thing that’ll get you to come back to Winter Cove.”

Matt had grinned. “What do you think will get me back there?”

“A chance to prove that you’ve made something of yourself,” Don told him without hesitation. “Not that you need to prove anything to anybody, but I’ve known you a long time, son. You’ve had a chip on your shoulder thanks to those folks of yours. This is your chance to get rid of it once and for all, especially now that your mother’s moved on to Orlando.”

That had been news to Matt. He’d made it a point not to stay in touch with her. “When did that happen?”

“A few months back.” Don had regarded Matt intently, then added, “When your daddy got out of jail.”

Matt had felt as if he’d been sucker punched. “She’s back with that lying, scheming, abusive son of a bitch?”

“Hiding out from him, more than likely,” Don replied. “He’s come through town once or twice asking questions about her and about you, but he’s been smart enough not to stick around. He knows people in Winter Cove haven’t forgotten what he did to your mother and to you.”

Clyde Atkins had been a mean drunk. He’d have gone on using Matt’s mother for a punching bag, if Matt hadn’t stepped in between them one night. Not yet thirteen and scrawny, Matt had been no match for his bigger, angrier father, but the resulting commotion had drawn the attention of neighbors and the police. A whole slew of charges had been filed against Clyde, and this time they’d stuck. Matt had seen to it that his mother didn’t withdraw them at the last second as she had in the past. And even if she had, his own bruises, carefully recorded by the police the night of the incident, would have been enough to convict the bastard.

Until that moment when he’d learned of his father’s release from jail, Matt thought he’d put all of that behind him, but the swell of anger and bitterness in his chest had told him otherwise. His father had made his childhood a living hell, and his mother hadn’t done much to help. He’d spent every day since trying to live down the reputation he’d inherited from the two of them.

He met Don’s understanding gaze. “You think I should take the job, don’t you?”

“I think you should give it some serious thought, for your own sake and for the town. Winter Cove can use a man with your experience, but more than that, it can use a man who knows what the town was, as well as what it can be. Personally, I don’t want to see us drift too far from our roots. We’re already dangerously close to doing that.”

Matt had frowned at that. “I’d be coming to keep law and order, not to block change.”

“Sometimes it’s the same thing,” Don told him.

“Haven’t the changes been good for your business? Aren’t you busier now than ever at the diner?”

“True enough, but I don’t know everyone who walks through the door the way I used to,” Don had lamented. “Especially not in mid-February when all the snowbirds are tying up traffic and taking up tables where my regulars like to sit. One of these days we’re going to have a fistfight over that. I can see it coming. Habersham’s likely to be in the thick of it, too. The mayor’s got his favorite table in the corner where he can be seen by everyone. Three sweet little old ladies with blue hair and stretch pants were sitting there when he came in the other morning and he stood there glowering down at them. I thought he was going to have a stroke, especially when one of them responded to his intimidation tactics by beaming up at him and inviting him to join them.”

Matt chuckled. “And you want me around to personally keep the peace in your restaurant?”

“I want you around because Rosa and the boys and I miss you,” Don had said. “We consider you part of the family and you haven’t been home nearly enough.”

The fact that he hadn’t mentioned Emma spoke volumes in Matt’s opinion. Or maybe Don had just been wise enough to know that any reference to Emma would have been taking unfair advantage of old feelings.

Matt hadn’t been able to resist the opening, though. “You didn’t mention Emma. How’s she doing these days? Is she still in Washington?”

“Yes, more’s the pity,” Don said with a shake of his head. “I don’t understand what she sees in the place, much less in that man she’s working for. He’s got sneaky eyes, if you ask me. And you’ll never convince me that Marcel D’Avignon is his real name. More likely, Marty Birdbrain, straight out of rural West Virginia. Maybe I should get you to check him out.”

Matt would have liked nothing better than to investigate any man in Emma’s life, even if theirs was only a working relationship, but something told him Don was only half-serious. “Say the word and I will,” he’d told him.

“And have her come down here and tear a strip out of both our hides? I don’t think so,” Don said with obvious regret. “And if she didn’t, Rosa surely would. No, Emma’s got a good head on her shoulders. I just have to have faith that she can look out for herself and not let the man take advantage of her.”

“Does she get home much?”

“Not nearly often enough.” Don had given him a knowing look. “But maybe you could change that.”

His words were tantamount to a blessing and gave Matt the hope he’d never had before where Emma was concerned. The slimmest possibility that Don could be right had been an added incentive for him to take the job once it was offered.

Maybe if the mayor had sent someone else, maybe if Matt hadn’t handled way too many domestic disturbance calls on his last shift, he might have been able to turn the offer down flat. As it was, he’d jumped at the chance to explore going back to Winter Cove in a respectable position. The salary and benefits had hardly mattered. Don had pegged him exactly right. Matt had wanted a chance to prove something to the people of Winter Cove. And he’d clung to the likelihood that sooner or later, he’d catch a glimpse of Emma and see if he’d finally outgrown his infatuation.

His first few months on the job had gone smoothly enough. Even without a visit from Emma, he had no regrets about his decision to come home. Don had been right about the number of strangers around, but there were still a lot of familiar faces, and Matt had made it his business to get to know the strangers, as well. Little went on around town that he didn’t observe or hear about.

Like the scene he’d witnessed in Flamingo Diner that morning. It wasn’t the first time Don had lost patience with Andy lately. Nor was it the first time he’d snapped at Rosa, but each troubling incident took Matt by surprise. Years ago Don would never have taken that tone with any of them. In fact, over the years, whenever Matt thought of the Killians, all he remembered was the laughter and Don Killian’s gentle, persistent way of teaching all of them the right way to do things. The little displays of temper, mild in comparison to what Matt had lived through in his own home, were still worrisome because they were so totally out of character.

But as much as Matt loved the family, as much as he’d always been made to feel as if he were part of it, he wasn’t sure if it was his place to step in and ask Don if anything was wrong. Maybe he didn’t want to admit that his mentor might have flaws. Besides, people had their bad days. Even he could be short-tempered, snarling at anyone who crossed his path. But until the last few weeks, he’d never witnessed Don saying an unkind word to anyone, especially a member of his own family.

Matt wasn’t the only one concerned, either. Since that morning, half a dozen people had stopped him on the street and asked if he knew what was on Don’s mind. Having everyone know about every little mood swing was both the blessing and the curse of a place like Winter Cove. There was something comforting about knowing how many people cared, but it could be disconcerting, too. Matt was still getting used to all the teasing questions about his own social life, which was nonexistent at the moment since he’d recently broken off a brief flirtation with a local investment adviser because she’d been more serious than he was.

Fleetingly, he considered calling Emma and filling her in on this new tension at the diner, but he knew in his gut that his motives weren’t entirely pure. Why stir her up over something that she wasn’t here to fix? As genuine as his concern was, it was a pretty pathetic excuse to hear the sound of her voice and see if it still had the power to make his knees weak.

He uttered a rueful chuckle. Here it was after midnight, and unable to sleep, he was cruising along the lakefront dreaming up ways to make contact with a woman he hadn’t seen in a decade. Even more absurd was the fact that he was still carrying a torch for a woman he’d never even kissed, a woman who’d been little more than a girl the last time he’d seen her.

He sighed. He really did need to get a social life. The next time Jessie Jameson offered to fix him up with her granddaughter, he just might take her up on it. Everyone knew that Jessie Three, as the younger woman was known around town, was always up for a good time. Maybe that was what Matt needed, a little uncomplicated sex and a few laughs.

In the meantime, he could definitely use a distraction. Catching a burglar in the act would be good. Even a traffic violation. But the streets of Winter Cove were quiet at this hour. Few people were stirring.

He was almost relieved when he finally spotted something out of the ordinary, a glint of something metallic at the edge of the lake, picked out by his headlights as he rounded a curve. It could be nothing more than a piece of debris that had washed ashore, but it also wouldn’t be the first time that some crazy kid had taken the curve at excessive speed and wound up in the water.

Feeling a sudden sense of urgency he screeched to a stop, grabbed his flashlight and ran across the grassy slope toward the edge of the water. As he got closer, there was no mistaking the fact that what had caught his eye was the chrome of a bumper. The car itself was almost fully submerged. Unless the accident had happened minutes earlier, unless the driver had managed to break a window and swim free, there was little chance anyone had survived.

Matt radioed for help, then, still clutching the waterproof flashlight, he waded into the water, preparing himself for the sudden drop-off that would then level out at about six-feet deep. The lake wasn’t as dangerously deep as many of the nearby canals, where cars could disappear completely, but it was deep enough to kill, especially if the driver didn’t have the presence of mind or the tools to free himself.

Keeping one hand on the car as a guide, he sucked in a deep breath and went beneath the surface, praying as he’d never prayed before that he’d find a broken-out windshield and no one inside.

Shining his flashlight he caught a glimpse of the car’s color, the same dark blue as Don Killian’s five-year-old sedan. Matt’s pulse kicked up a notch. He told himself it couldn’t be Don’s car. Don would never be out at this hour, not when he had to be up before dawn to do the baking at Flamingo Diner. Nor would Jeff or Andy have taken Don’s car. They both had their own, bought and insured with their own money at their father’s insistence. Matt had gone with Andy to look at pickups just a few weeks ago, right after he’d gotten his license.

Sucking in another deep breath, Matt dove back below the surface and made his way toward the front of the car. The beam of the flashlight cast an eerie glow through the water-filled interior. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the back seat, or even on the driver’s side, and for an instant a wave of relief washed through him. Maybe the car had been stolen and then ditched, he thought as he broke through the surface of the lake and gasped for air.

Even though his theory was a good one, Matt knew he couldn’t take chances that the driver of that car was still trapped inside, especially if there was even the remotest chance it was Don Killian. Even as he heard the wail of sirens in the distance, he dove back beneath the surface and shone his light slowly from back seat to front. Logic told him that if the driver had been able to free himself, he would be in the back, seeking the last little pocket of air as the car filled with water. Unfortunately the damn lake water was murkier than it should have been and all he could make out were shadows and the faint shape of something large and solid on the passenger side of the front seat.

Matt was a strong swimmer but his lungs were near to bursting when he made the discovery. As desperately as he wanted to take a closer look, he forced himself to the surface again.

By then the shoreline was swarming with policemen and rescue workers, including a team of divers.

“There’s someone in there,” he said, coughing up water. “Front passenger side.”

Not ten minutes later, the divers were back, hauling the victim out of the water, their expressions grim. At Matt’s questioning look, they shook their heads.

“Too late,” diver Dave Griffin told him. “We’ll have to wait for the medical examiner’s report, but I’d say he’s been down there awhile.” His expression turned sympathetic. “Sorry, boss. I know you two were close.”

Matt felt his heart clench. “Then it’s…?” He couldn’t bring himself to complete the thought.

“Don Killian,” Dave said. “Damnedest thing, too. He was all strapped in. It was like he never even tried to get out.”

Matt’s head shot up and he stared at the dive team leader. “He was strapped in?”

“Snug as could be,” Dave confirmed.

“I could have sworn he was on the passenger side,” Matt said.

“No. Driver’s side. It just looked like he was on the other side because of the way his body was leaning toward the console.”

Why the hell wouldn’t Don have made some attempt to free himself? “Could Don have been dead when the car went into the water?” Matt asked, knowing that Dave wouldn’t have the answer. It was something the ME would have to decide.

“No visible wounds,” Dave told him. “He was strapped in too tight to have hit his head on the windshield. Can’t rule out a heart attack or a stroke, though.”

What the hell did he have on his hands? Matt wondered. An accident? That seemed like the obvious answer, but given Don’s behavior lately and that secured seat belt, he couldn’t rule out suicide. Whichever the case was, he dreaded having to be the one to tell Rosa, Jeff and Andy that Don was gone.

One thing was for certain, until he had conclusive proof otherwise, he intended to give the family the small comfort of thinking that Don had died in a tragic accident.

3

Suicide was such an ugly word. Maybe that was the reason it was seldom spoken above a whisper, Emma thought as she arrived in Florida, still dazed by the call that had come in the predawn hours. The officer who’d called her in the middle of the night had been very careful to describe her father’s death as an accident. Emma wished she believed him.

In fact, she desperately wanted to be convinced that her father had somehow missed a curve that he’d driven every day of his life for thirty years or more. Ever since she’d hung up, she’d prayed that the medical examiner would find evidence of some sudden condition that had sent him careening off the road or that the police would find dents in the car to indicate he’d swerved after being hit by another driver. At the very least, she wanted the ME to find absolutely nothing to disprove the idea that her father’s death had been an accident.

But remembering Andy’s call only two days earlier made her think otherwise. She didn’t want to believe that the weird behavior her brother had described had anything at all to do with her father’s death, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility, not as easily as she would have liked to.

So far, she hadn’t mentioned anything to the police about her concerns. She excused her silence by telling herself it wasn’t as if she actually knew anything. Besides, it would be better if they formed an unbiased opinion based on the evidence.

If only she’d been able to talk to her mother, but Rosa had been too distraught to take her calls. It was hours later and Emma still hadn’t spoken to her. Rosa had been sedated and Jeff and Andy were nowhere to be found when Emma had called to let her family know when she would be arriving. She’d been assured by Helen Lindsay, her mother’s best friend, that someone would be at the Orlando airport to pick her up and drive her to Winter Cove, but she had no idea who it might be.

The flight had been endless, giving her far too much time to sort through the scant information she had, too much time to twist the facts inside out and come up with theories about how and why her father had died.

An accident, she repeated firmly. It had to be. She was still telling herself that when she walked into the luggage claim area. With her gaze intent on the luggage carousel, she almost missed the tall, lanky man in faded jeans and a snug-fitting, white T-shirt who pushed away from a railing, but something about the lazy, sexy way he moved caught her eye. In fact, on any other occasion, she would have given his muscular body an appreciative once-over, noting the details to share with Kim the next time they talked. Now they barely registered and she tried to make sense of the fact that he was moving directly toward her.

“Emma?”

She took off the sunglasses she’d been wearing to hide her red-rimmed eyes to get a better look. Finally recognition dawned and with it came a vague sense of relief at finding a familiar face amid the crowd of strangers. “Matt Atkins? What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were working in Tampa.”

“I’m back in Winter Cove now, as the police chief, no less. I’m surprised your family hadn’t told you.”

“Who would have thought…” she began. A grin almost formed then faded as it dawned on her that he knew, had to know, about her father, that in fact that was what had brought him here. This wasn’t an accidental meeting, after all. Tears, never far away over the last few hours, welled up again. “You’re here because…” She couldn’t finish the thought.

“I came to take you home,” he confirmed quietly, clearly as uncomfortable with mentioning her father’s death as she was.

Before she knew it, Emma was in his arms, gathered close against all that solid, reassuring strength. After feeling cold and empty since the call had come, it felt good to feel so much heat and energy, to feel alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he held her tight. “You can’t imagine how sorry.”

Emma couldn’t answer. The words wouldn’t come. Instead, the tears just continued to fall, soaking his shirt, ruining what little was probably left of her makeup, and not doing a damn thing to wash away the hurt.

Matt didn’t seem to mind. He let her cry herself out, until she finally gave him a watery half smile and apologized.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, his own voice thick with emotion. “Your dad is…was like a father to me. I owed him more than you’ll ever know. I’m sick about this.”

Emma pulled a wad of tissues from her pocket and blotted ineffectively at her face. “What happened? Do you know? Has the medical examiner made any sort of ruling?” she asked. “Did Dad have a heart attack?”

Matt’s mouth formed a grim line. “Let’s get your bags and get out of here. We can talk on the drive home.”

Emma wanted to argue, but what was the point? The answers wouldn’t be one bit different ten minutes from now, an hour from now…a lifetime from now. And in the end, what difference would they make, really? Her father—the man who had made up stories to chase the monsters from a little girl’s bedroom—would still be dead.

They were twenty minutes into the ride when she decided she was ready to know everything Matt knew. “Matt, tell me what happened.”

“I wish I could. The ME doesn’t have anything conclusive yet. Maybe by the end of the day, maybe not for a few days till all the toxicology reports come in.”

“Toxicology reports?”

“To see if there were any drugs or even alcohol in his blood.”

“Don’t be absurd. Dad rarely drank and he certainly never took drugs.”

“Not even medications?” Matt asked.

Emma realized she didn’t know. He could have been on a dozen different prescriptions and no one would have thought to tell her. She sighed. “I don’t know.” She regarded him evenly. “What do you think happened? Did he miss the curve?”

“That’s what I want to believe,” he said tightly, but he wouldn’t look at her.

She heard the same doubts in his voice that had echoed in her head for hours now. “Matt, there’s something else, something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“Not now, Em. Let’s wait for the reports.”

“I need to know, dammit!”

He gave her a look filled with sympathy. “I know you do. We all do, but what good is it to have speculation? You need facts, not theories.”

She drew in a deep breath and asked the question that had plagued her all the way home. “Could he have driven into the lake on purpose?”

“Don’t go there, Emma.”

“Is it possible?” she asked again.

“Anything’s possible, but he didn’t leave a note, at least not that we’ve found so far. There wasn’t one in the car, at the diner or at the house.”

“Then you did search for one?” To her that was damning proof that Matt thought there was something odd about the way her father had died.

“Of course.”

“So you believe suicide’s a possibility, don’t you?” she asked, pushing the point because she had to.

“It’s one of them,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “Why would you think that, though?”

“Andy called me a couple of days ago. He was really worried about Dad. He said he’d been acting weird for a while. He wanted me to come home.” She blinked back tears. “I told him no.”

Matt reached for her hand. “And now you’re blaming yourself,” he concluded. “Don’t. What good will that do? We don’t know what happened last night, Emma. Until we do, cut yourself some slack.”