The Unrelenting Tide (Islands of Intrigue: San Juans - Christian Romantic Suspense) (6 page)

Little shoulders drooped. “A’wight.”

Jackie chuckled and pulled Devynne into another embrace as Marissa drug her feet toward the stairs. “I’ve missed your visits, so.”

Her hand on the stair rail, Marissa froze. “Have you missed my visits too, Gwandma?”

Devynne couldn’t help but join Jackie in a chuckle.

Turning to her granddaughter with a twinkle in her eyes, Jackie laid a hand on her dark curls. “Yes. I’ve missed you, too. But I think your mama asked you to do something?”

Devynne could almost see the cogs turning in her daughter’s little head.

“I’m not feeling so good.”

Jackie folded her arms and arched one brow. “You didn’t get a tummy ache from all that ice cream Grandpa let you have, I hope.”

The little tot’s eyes glimmered at the memory. “Nope. And if you let me have so’mowe I won’t get one now neithew. Whewe is Gwandpa?”

Devynne bit back a laugh, knowing Rissa’s motive for finding her beloved Grandpa to be anything but pure. “First get your PJs and put them by the door. Then, you may go find Grandpa, but you are not to ask him for ice cream, do you understand?”

With a gleam in her eyes the four-year-old nodded.

“Or candy. Or gum. Or anything else, you hear?”

The light went out of her eyes and she hung her head. “Fine.” She trudged up the stairs.

Jackie motioned for Devynne to follow her into the kitchen. “Carcen told us about the man at your place last night. That’s just terrible. Are you alright, honey?”

She forced her lips to form what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. They caught him. Carcen is interrogating him now.”

“Well, let’s hope they can put him away for a very long time.” Jackie
tsked
. “What is the world coming to? I’m just glad Carcen got there when he did.”

“Yes.” Devynne swallowed and accepted the mug of steaming coffee Jackie pressed into her hands. “Me too.”

Jackie’s phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID. “Oh, I need to take this. Give me just a minute.”

“Sure.” Devynne sipped her coffee and studied the gorgeous landscaping in the back yard, while Jackie spoke on the phone.

It was only a moment before Jackie punched the off button and exclaimed, “Drat that Maisy Lewis!”

Devynne blinked.

Jackie waved a hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just that she was to help in the kitchen for the Breakfast for Life fundraiser tomorrow. And she had to go rollerblading with her grandson and break her arm!”

The idea of her mother-in-law being upset with a woman for breaking her arm triggered a chuckle Devynne couldn’t suppress. “I bet she’s faking it. Maybe you could subtly take a whack at her cast on Sunday to see if she winces in pain, or not.”

Jackie smirked at her own pique. “Yes. I suppose she can’t help it, can she? But now I have to find someone to replace her at the last minute.”

“I’ll do it.” Devynne nearly gasped. Where had those words come from?

“Oh! You will?” Jackie swept her into such a fierce embrace that she nearly dumped her coffee down her back. “You are a lifesaver!”

Carcen sank into the chair across from the scum-bag cuffed to the table. His court-assigned lawyer, Harry King, sat next to him, resignation oozing from every pore in his wrinkly face. Carcen knew from past discussions that Harry’s least favorite part of his job was defending the slam-dunk guilty.

Carcen nodded a greeting and Harry acknowledged it with the lift of one finger. The prisoner made no response whatsoever.

Flipping open his file, Carcen studied his sheet for a few minutes, more to make the man sweat than because he needed to read the file again.

He hoped Devynne would enjoy her morning at Mom and Dad’s and that the lock-smith would be done and gone before they got back to her house this afternoon. The less reminders she had about this incident the better. She needed to move on.

And thankfully the man sitting across from him was a big part of that. Or at least he would be once he was locked up for the next twenty years. Or perhaps life, if he’d had anything to do with her sister’s and Kent’s death as Devynne suspected.

Robert Dawson, thirty-eight years old, had served time in Missouri for aggravated assault as a juvy. Two years after his release he’d been indicted for a rape, but they hadn’t been able to make the charges stick and he’d been released. A series of petty crimes across the country covered several years and led to California where he’d spent five years in and out of the system before disappearing off the grid in 2005…. Until his arrest yesterday.

Carcen slapped the folder shut and glowered at the man. Blond curly hair coiled from his head in unruly abandon. A Sparse goatee attempted to hide a large dark mole on the man’s jaw, but failed. Pale blue eyes stared back at him, unblinking.

Was he looking at his brother’s killer? A surge of sheer anger rolled in on a wave of adrenaline and he shoved his hands into his lap to keep the officers on the other side of the glass from noticing their trembling. “I’m Sheriff Carcen Lang. Officer Kent Lang was my brother.”

The man blinked, brow furrowing into a puzzled frown. “What’s he got to do with me?”

Careful, Lang.
As soon as he realized this man might be his brother’s killer, he should have pulled himself from the case. Interrogating the man with what he’d done to Dev, was pushing it, as it was. But calling in outside help got expensive. And as the Sheriff, head of the entire department for all the islands, it was up to him to keep expenses down. He’d just have to proceed with all due diligence and caution.

Carcen tapped the folder. “You’ve been off the grid for a few years.”

Dawson shrugged. “Been keeping my nose clean.”

“Where were you four years ago, June 15th?”

Harry King shifted and ran a hand over his surprisingly thick thatch of white hair. “Let’s keep the questions confined to the reason for his arrest yesterday.”

But Dawson leaned forward, waving the lawyer to silence. The cuffs clanked against the bar as the prisoner shifted. “We can talk about four years ago…. Something happen on that day I should know about?”

Carcen lowered his voice. “Where were you?”

Another shrug. The man scratched at the scruff on his chin and studied the ceiling. “Can’t say I recall exactly where I was then. I’ve been traveling a bit over the last few years.”

“Till yesterday.”

The perp shrugged. “We done talking about four years ago?”

“For now. Tell me about yesterday.”

“You guys got the wrong man.” He held up a finger. “Yesterday I was just minding my own business,” a second finger joined the first, “sleeping in the brush there,” a third finger popped up, “when some dude crashed by in a full-out sprint.” He ticked off a fourth item. “I realized there were cops everywhere, so I jumped up and started to run too.”

Despite the odd way he’d orated the events, Carcen rejoined with, “Running from the cops is generally only something guilty men do.”

He smirked. “Habit, I suppose.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

Carcen folded his arms and tipped back in his chair. “And that’s why you were wearing a black ski mask too? Habit?”

“You ever try to sleep outside in June in the San Juans? It’s cold out there, man! I had that on to keep warm.”

A tap sounded on the door and the legs of Carcen’s chair rapped on the tiles as he stood to open it.

Shannon shifted from one foot to the other, a smile splitting her face.

Carcen’s brows shot up and he stepped farther into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Trace worked those gloves from the upstairs bathroom. We got a print.”

Relief surged. He could tell by the look on her face it was good news. “And?”

She looked at a paper in her hands. “He’s our man. Robert Dawson, born May 16th, 1975. Tat of the four horsemen of the apocalypse between his shoulder blades, and a mole on his right cheek.”

Carcen couldn’t prevent a grin as a huge wave of relief coursed through him. “Well alright then. We’ve got our man. Thanks, Shannon.”

“Anytime, Sheriff.” She tossed a meaningful look over one shoulder as she swayed back toward her desk.

Back in the interrogation room, Carcen presented the new evidence to Harry and then left him there to confer with his client. His watch read one-fifty. He snagged his coat and a power-bar from his desk. He couldn’t wait to tell Dev the good news.

With the solid proof of the man’s finger prints in the house, combined with the phrase he’d been whispering to Devynne, it was a sure bet they had her stalker in custody.

Now he just had to tie the two cases together for the prosecution.

Chapter 7

Later that afternoon, Devynne leaned against the wall in Jackie and Lamar’s entry waiting for Carcen’s arrival. Jackie had gone out to run a few errands for the morning’s breakfast. In the living room, Marissa and Lamar giggled together over the antics of Scooby Doo. A wistful smile tugged at her lips. Why didn’t they do this more often?

She sighed. There was a very good reason why and she’d better not forget it. Too much time with them and they were bound to find out— One hand went to the back of her neck and she squeezed at the tension suddenly threatening to give her a head ache.

The front door opened. Carcen stepped in and swung his jacket onto a coat hook by the door.

“Oh good you’re here. How did it go?” She searched his face. He wore such a look of satisfaction, her pulse picked up.

He took her shoulders. “We got him, Dev. His fingerprints were in those gloves. And the lab is still sifting through the rest of the evidence. They’re bound to find some of his DNA. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“So you’re going to let me go places on my own again?”

He chuckled and winked. “Maybe.”

Tears suddenly threatened and she blinked hard. She turned from him, fingers covering her mouth. She glanced at her daughter on Lamar’s lap. The endearing sight of Marissa leaning back with her curly mop tickling the underside of her grandpa’s chin made the tears spill over and trail down Devynne’s cheeks. She closed her eyes and pulled in a tremulous breath. So many years she’d hidden away for the sake of her daughter’s safety. So many years and things that man had stolen from her. From Marissa.

Carcen stepped to her side and tucked a Kleenex into her hands. She dashed the tears from her cheeks. “Did you ask him? About Kent?”

Carcen pressed his lips together grimly. “I tried. He claimed he’s traveled a lot and couldn’t remember where he was on that day.”

Her face crumpled. “Carcen it had to have been him at Island Grocers that day.”

“We don’t know that for sure. You know whoever it was tried to hold up I.G. that day. That’s why Kent sent you and Marissa into the bathroom. It could have simply been a robbery gone bad.”

“If I hadn’t messed up the 9-1-1 call… Maybe you’d have gotten there in time.”

He took her elbow. “You accidentally hanging up and then calling right back only wasted a few seconds. It wouldn’t have made a difference. I, of all people, know what it’s like to live in the past with the constant wondering if you could have done anything differently. The truth is, we all did the best we could and we can’t go back. I’ll never stop looking for Kent’s killer, I promise you that. But,” his face turned tender, “for now you need to get home. Come on. Wait for me in the car? I’ll wrangle Marissa.”

Marissa fell asleep before they made it to the house, and Carcen carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Devynne pulled off the little shoes sticky with some sort of sugary drippings and tucked her into bed fully clothed, knowing she’d sleep like a rock no matter what she was wearing.

Carcen checked all the doors with the keys the lock-smith had given them that morning. She stood in the kitchen eyeing the new security panel and waiting for him to leave. Dreading it, but knowing he would. With that…man…in jail, and new locks on all the doors, plus the alarm system, there was no reason for him to stay in the guest house another night.

Finally, he arrived back in the kitchen and dropped the keys into her hands with a grin. “They all work perfectly. And everything is locked up tight.”

“Thank you.”

“Listen…” he rested his hands on his hips and studied the floor near his feet. “I have a contractor installing some new windows in the living room at my place. He’s not done yet, and the place is a disaster. Would you mind if I stayed in the guest house for a few more nights?”

Relief coursed through her. “Not at all. That would be fine.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He took a step toward the door, but then stopped and looked at her. “Dev?”

“Yes?”

“I want you to ask yourself how you would have wanted Kent to live if you had been taken instead of him. I know things have been…strained. But now, with the man behind bars. What do you want for yourself?”

She blinked. “Happiness, I suppose, for Marissa and I.”

He touched her cheek, his fingers lingering for a moment before he stepped back. “Then go get it. ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.’ I have a feeling your morning has come, Dev.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Why do you think God allows such bad things to happen on this earth?”