Chapter 2
CARRIE
The convoy swept through the gates of a low, sand-colored complex surrounded by palm trees and chain-link fencing.
The building itself was quiet and discreet, a government structure that seemed to blend into the coastline.
Carrie stepped out of the SUV first. The sea breeze should have felt fresh, but the air here carried a chill of order and secrecy.
Two agents in dark jackets met them at the entrance.
Their badges flashed silver as they motioned the group inside.
Alisha walked close to her father, and Cheryl followed, her head slightly lowered, every step cautious but steady.
Trent stayed near the rear, phone in one hand, posture tense as he spoke softly into his earpiece.
The lobby was glass and steel. The light was sterile, and the air conditioning was set colder than necessary. Carrie had walked through enough police precincts to recognize when a place was designed for control.
Alisha whispered, “This looks more like a spy base than an FBI office.”
“Maybe it’s both,” Carrie murmured back.
At the end of the corridor, a door opened, and Paula Day appeared.
She looked more composed and in control than the woman in the brightly matching flowing outfit on a bicycle with a large hat that she’d met on the island.
This Paula was composed and dressed in a cream blouse and navy jacket, with matching trousers and very expensive heels.
Paula’s hair was pulled neatly behind her ears.
After greeting them with a smile, Carrie felt the sensation she reserved for witnesses, and she turned toward Cheryl, her shoulders stiffening, her chin lifted, and her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Hello, Cheryl,” Paula said, her tone calm and cool. “It’s been a while.”
Cheryl’s reply came like a snap of glass. “Not long enough.”
Paula let the insult slide, her gaze flicking briefly to Trent before returning to Cheryl. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said.
“I’m sure you’ll miss her more than I will,” Cheryl replied, her voice sharp. “After all, you were the only one she was ever nice to.”
Carrie felt her eyebrows lift. She glanced at Matt, who was equally taken aback. Whatever stood between these two women had roots that went far back.
Paula didn’t rise to the provocation. “Delia Winters treated me like she treated most people,” she said quietly. “Like a charity case.”
“No,” Cheryl shot back. “She treated you better than the rest. She compared me to you constantly.” Bitterness roughened her voice. “I was never good enough next to the perfect straight-A student and track star—Paula Day.”
Paula’s lips pressed together. “Only because she felt sorry for me,” she said after a beat. “Like everyone else on the island.”
“Oh, poor Paula,” Cheryl mocked. “Sunset Keys’ darling. The abandoned child with no mommy that everyone adored.”
The tension in the air thickened. Carrie stepped forward before Paula could respond. “All right, that’s enough. We have a murder, two kidnappings, and a pile of fraud to untangle. This isn’t the time or place for old grudges.”
Paula exhaled through her nose, regaining her poise.
“Agreed.” Cheryl tossed her head.
“We’re here because your son, Detective Lawrence, is in my custody. The evidence and his confession confirm he murdered Katy Marshall, abducted Ian Marshall and two children, and attempted to extort Mr. Parker and Chief Ware, whom I believe you know is a police chief.”
Carrie felt the impact of those words like a physical weight. She had known it, but hearing it stated so flatly made it real again.
Cheryl’s face went pale. “He… confessed?” she whispered. “He killed Katy? He hurt Dick?”
Paula frowned. “He admitted his involvement in the murder, the abductions, the blackmail, and Dick is recovering, so it’s an attempted murder.” Her brow furrowed. “Who is Peter’s father? He insists it’s Dick Stanstead. If that’s the case, why didn’t he take Dick’s name?”
Cheryl gave a slow nod, gathering herself. “Ian is Peter’s biological father,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “But Dick Stanstead was the one who raised him.” She met Paula’s eyes, pleading. “Please, I need to see my son.”
Paula’s tone turned firm. “That isn’t possible. He’s volatile and manipulative. We have to maintain control.”
“I’m not asking to be alone with him,” Cheryl argued. “You’ll be watching through glass. You’ll record every word. Please. I can get through to him. I have to try to find out why… why he would do this.” Her eyes were glazed and dazed. “He’s a police detective… I just don’t understand.”
Paula hesitated. “We don’t let family members near suspects during active investigation.”
Carrie stepped forward. “Maybe you should make an exception. If Cheryl can get him to talk, it could help all of us. He’s not going to cooperate with strangers.”
Matt nodded beside her. “She’s right. Sometimes you need a personal connection to get answers.”
Paula looked between them and then at Trent. “Your call,” she said quietly. “You brought them in.”
Trent studied Cheryl for a long moment before replying. “We’ll allow it. Fifteen minutes, no physical contact, and the feed stays live.”
Cheryl’s eyes shimmered with relief. “Thank you.”
Paula turned briskly toward the corridor. “Let’s get this over with.”
Ten minutes later, Carrie stood with Matt, Alisha, Paula, and Trent behind a wide pane of mirrored glass.
On the other side, Peter Lawrence sat cuffed to a table, elbows resting on the metal surface, posture casual in a way that only made him seem more dangerous.
His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled from the earlier struggle, but his eyes gleamed sharp and alert.
Cheryl entered quietly. The guard closed the door behind her and stepped back. She hesitated before taking the chair opposite her son.
Peter’s mouth curled. “Oh, it’s you. I was expecting that other woman.”
Cheryl frowned. “What other woman?”
“The one who doesn’t even know who she is,” he said with a dismissive wave, then leaned forward, the chains of his cuffs clinking softly. “So, what brings you here, Mother? Have they arrested you, too, or are you their newest bargaining chip?”
“I came to see you,” Cheryl said evenly, though her hands gripped the edge of the table. “To find out why.”
“Why what?” he asked, amused. “Why I stopped pretending we were a perfect family? Why I took back what’s ours? Or are your new friends on the other side of the glass hoping to get something out of me?”
Carrie could hear every word through the intercom, her stomach tightening. She wanted to believe there was something salvageable in the young man’s tone, but it was too measured, too cold.
“I thought you already confessed,” Cheryl said quietly. “Why would you do that?”
“There was no point in denying it,” Peter said with a shrug. “They have Katy’s diary, and Father’s still alive. Sooner or later, he’ll tell them everything.”
“Dick would never turn on you,” Cheryl said, eyes wide with desperation.
Peter smiled without humor. “Oh yeah? You all turned on me first. As soon as Granddad passed me the reins, you, Dad, and that Marshall woman started working behind my back. Cleaning up deals, talking to feds, pretending you could erase generations of business with good intentions.”
“You’re wrong,” Cheryl whispered. “We were trying to keep you safe.”
He scoffed. “Safe? You mean weak. Just like you were with your mother.”
“Petie,” she said, the name trembling off her lips, “please stop.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, slamming his palm against the table so hard the microphone popped with static.
The sudden sound made Alisha flinch beside Carrie, and her heart thudded against her ribs as she was about to dash in there.
‘No, Mom, don’t.” Trent’s hand moved to Carrie’s shoulder, stopping her. “Let her handle it,” he said softly, while Carrie kept her gaze fixed on Cheryl.
On the other side of the glass, Cheryl’s composure wavered, but she held firm. “You don’t understand, Petie… sorry Peter. Dick and I were trying to protect you from your grandparents. We were trying to set things right.”
Peter leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Protect me? From the people who gave us everything? You sound just like Father. Always pretending you were better than them.”
Cheryl drew in a sharp breath and pressed her fingers to her temple. “You know nothing about them. They used people, destroyed lives. I wanted out. I wanted you out.”
“Well, you got your wish,” he said with quiet venom. “You’re out. All the way out.”
Carrie felt a pang of sympathy twist inside her chest. Cheryl wasn’t just losing her son; she was watching the echo of her own choices playing out through him.
“Peter,” Cheryl said softly. “You’ve gone too far. Please stop talking before you dig your grave any deeper.”
Peter laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
Let me take the fall so you and Father can walk free.
” He smirked. “But you know what, Mother? I know more than you think. I got to the lawyer’s files about your mother’s land before you did.
I know who the real heir to Lost Love Cove is.
” His grin widened. “And, I have the disk with all the information you got on my grandparents and their operation. Oh yes, I destroyed that. It’s gone.
Just like the file on who the real heir of Lost Love Cove is. ”
Carrie’s head jerked up. Behind her, Matt muttered something low. Paula’s hand froze over her notepad.
“What?” Cheryl whispered. “Who… who is my half-sister?”
Peter’s grin widened, clearly enjoying torturing his mother. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Peter’s smile held as if he were tasting victory. Carrie held her breath as she watched Cheryl steady herself with both palms on the metal table.
“Pet—Peter,” she corrected, her voice barely above a murmur. “If you know who the heir is, then say it. Stop playing games.”
“And throw away the only card I have?” Peter’s brows lifted. “You didn’t teach me to be that na?ve.”