An Unlikely Match. Cynthia Thomason
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chill skittered down Claire’s spine when she wondered now if Jane’s caregivers had truly been without blemish. How careful did a parent have to be, especially when the family lived in a big city like Miami? She took a deep breath, calming her fears. She lived in Heron Point now. Things were different here.
She looked at Hogan, who was avoiding ruts in the narrow road bordered with sweeping palms. “How did it happen with Anderson’s son?” she asked.
Hogan frowned. “The kid was taken right off a ball field within a hundred yards of Archie, who was watching his game from the bleachers. You’d think a playground would be safe, but it wasn’t.” He shook his head, a reaction to a sad truth he obviously believed in. “Over the years I’ve learned that no place is safe.”
Claire refused to give in to such a pessimistic outlook. There were safe places, and she’d found one on this island. She felt as safe here as she had in the Ohio farming community where she’d grown up. There, folks were decent. And in Heron Point, people lived their lives according to their own dictates, and with the exception of a few laws and regulations, they could do pretty much what they wanted on the island. Claire believed that freedom of thought and action kept her neighbors content, and contentment bred peace.
But her heart ached for Archie Anderson, a man she’d never met who’d suffered unimaginable pain. And her sympathy went out to Jack Hogan because his cynicism had colored his world so that he viewed all humanity with a suspicious eye. “How did it turn out?” she asked, fearful of the answer. “Did Mr. Anderson get his son back?”
“I’m happy to report he did.” Hogan swerved to avoid a deep furrow in the road. Spiky palm fronds brushed the side of the car below Claire’s window. “This reminds me of the jungle,” he said with enough conviction that Claire knew he’d been there.
“But we’re almost out of it,” he added, pointing to a spear of sunlight a few hundred feet ahead. “Archie paid the ransom, which was only two hundred thousand dollars. Not a lot for a man like Anderson even in those days. The kidnappers mostly wanted to make him suffer because he’d fired the ringleader from his job as a foreman on a job site.”
Jack glanced over at Claire. “Believe me, the man deserved to be fired. And he definitely deserved what he got when the police eventually found Ethan. He and his accomplices had kept the boy locked in a cellar for two weeks while they negotiated their terms. From what I’ve heard, and what I can imagine, it was hell. Mrs. Anderson had to be hospitalized, and never fully recovered.”
“And Ethan?”
“They tell me he’d lost weight, and he was filthy. And he didn’t talk for a long time after. But he eventually put it behind him.” The SUV broke free of the trees near a rambling wood-frame building with an expansive front porch and a half-dozen gabled windows poking out from a steeply sloped tin roof. Hogan stopped the vehicle and stared. “Wow, look at this place.”
He studied the property from all directions. After a few moments of quiet, he said, “He’s a good man, Ethan. I like and respect him. But don’t ever mention the kidnapping to him. He still won’t talk about it. And he’s kind of like you. Doesn’t like the idea of a bodyguard. I suppose having protection around him all the time brings back memories of those horrible two weeks. But Ethan’s no fool. With or without a bodyguard, he’s cautious, smart. Still, his independence drives the old man nuts.”
Claire sympathized with both Ethan and his father. She was thankful that since she’d moved to Heron Point, her safety had never been an issue. Roman had left her well off, and while she didn’t discuss her finances with anyone in town, she didn’t hide the fact that she was comfortable. Even so, she’d never felt the need for extra security in a community where everyone knew their neighbors.
Jack pulled the SUV up to the weather-beaten front entrance with the barely recognizable words Dolphin Run on a wooden sign by the steps. “No doorman,” he quipped. “Guess we’re on our own, Claire.”
JACK WAS FEELING pretty positive about the new, more accommodating relationship he was establishing with Heron Point’s mayor. He was enjoying her company, and considering how they’d started out, that was a bonus he intended to capitalize on. Jack had never had a problem dealing with women in positions of authority on a professional level, though he preferred less assertive women on a personal one.
Claire Betancourt was stubborn and protective of her office, but Jack was discovering that she also had a gentle, soft, feminine side that he could imagine exploring with a great deal of satisfaction, if circumstances were different. Still, Jack was practical. He knew there was always a giant margin of error when it came to relationships between the sexes. A man who thought he had a woman figured out could discover in a New York minute that he really didn’t know her at all. Jack’s divorce a few years ago had taught him that any woman could throw even the most confident man a curveball. It was best not to expect too much.
But for the first time since meeting Claire, Jack sensed she might be more receptive to hearing tips about increased security measures for Heron Point. He’d told her just enough about Archie Anderson’s past to gain her sympathy. What mother wouldn’t feel for a guy who’d gone through what Archie had? Jack figured the story had opened Claire’s eyes to the importance of security, even on this little island she seemed to believe was a haven from evil. As Jack well knew, there were no havens anymore. Everyone lived in a different world now. A dangerous one where no one could afford the luxury of complacency.
He watched her get out of the SUV. She was thoughtful, no doubt still mulling over the disappointing truth about bad people and how the good ones had to do whatever it took to keep them at a distance. She would understand now why he had to be concerned for his boss’s safety, both at Dolphin Run and in the community. Part of his job was to gain the cooperation of town officials, and during this trip to the inn, he’d come a long way in bringing the mayor over to his way of thinking.
He came around the car and walked with her to the front door. The massive solid oak panels were bleached and splintered from decades in the Florida sun. The brass lobster claws used as knockers were pitted and black. Holding up the key ring he said, “Now to figure out which one of these works, if any of them do after all this time.”
She stood at the bottom of the short cement steps and looked around the grounds. “There must have been some nice gardens here at one time,” she said.
Jack didn’t know one flower from another, but even a Manhattan apartment-dweller like him could tell that nothing much had bloomed at Dolphin Run for a long time. Untended for years, the bushes had been reduced to scraggly limbs stripped of their leaves by countless storms. Even the grass had given up its struggle and lay brown and windswept atop sandy, parched soil and ant-hills. He must have given her a quizzical look because she laughed.
“I’m talking about the flower beds. See how they’re enclosed with bricks and logs? Obviously someone once created an appealing arrangement for the gardens.”
Jack pushed and pulled at one of the warped doors as he twisted the key in the lock. “Well, like I said, this place needs a gardener.” After putting his shoulder into the effort, the entrance finally swung open. “Let’s hope it looks better inside.”
He waited for Claire to go ahead and then he followed. The first thing he noticed was the musty smell. And then he saw the cobwebs hanging from old oak beams crossing a twenty-foot-high ceiling. And of course there was the dust. Everywhere. Not for the first time, Jack was grateful that he was in charge of security for Anderson Enterprises, not development of properties, or in this case, redevelopment. “Good luck, Ethan,” he mumbled under his breath to Archie’s absent son and chief assistant. “This could be your greatest challenge.”
Claire had moved into the large room where a dark wood counter off to one side identified the space as the lobby and check-in area. Jack took his pad out of his pocket, flipped to an empty page and began making notes. He counted grimy windows and estimated the need and cost for security wiring. While he jotted figures, he noticed Claire wandering over to a towering fireplace made of fieldstone. Several dozen wooden ducks were