Page 44 of Killer Honeymoon
Royce smiled. “Or post social media updates every five minutes.”
Sawyer laughed, and the tension around his mouth and eyes eased even more. “True. I doubt Frank even knows what social media is.”
“You’re probably right, but it looks like you’ll get a chance to ask him,” Royce said, nodding toward the house across the street as Frank drove his golf cart into his driveway. “See? He’s home safe and sound. Maybe you could—” But Sawyer pivoted and marched toward an unsuspecting Frank. “Help me with these sticks,” Royce finished to himself.
Sawyer’s angry strides gobbled up the distance between the properties fast, so Royce set out at an easy jog to catch up.
“He has some nerve worrying us like this,” Sawyer said.
Just when Royce thought Sawyer couldn’t possibly charm him any more than he already had, Sawyer managed to surprise him. He bit back the laughter bubbling in his chest, but he couldn’t keep the humor from his voice. “And you’re going to do what? Ground him? Send him to his room without supper?”
Sawyer glanced over at him, and Royce saw the corner of his perfect mouth twitch. He didn’t respond because they’d crossed the street and had stepped into Frank’s yard by then. And Sawyer’s attention was aimed at the salty dog climbing out of his golf cart.
“Just where do you think you’ve been all night, mister?” Sawyer demanded to know. “Do you know what time it is? It’s noon, Frank.”
The older man whirled around so fast it was surprising he hadn’t wrenched his back. His expression flickered from surprise to pain to irritation in a flash. “Just who do you think you are talking to me in that tone, young man? I’m not too old to teach you a lesson.”
Sawyer and Frank’s shouting must have alerted the frightful foursome next door because they all stepped onto the porch. Royce still wasn’t sure what to think about Clint and the two ladies. He appreciated that they’d come clean, but the fact that they’d agreed to participate in such a diabolical plan spoke volumes about their characters. They’d vowed to make amends for their behavior, but Royce considered their contrition might have more to do with the severe storm scaring the hell out of them than any real twinge of conscience. He figured he was about to find out when Clint, Jen, and Chrissy walked down the steps and headed toward Frank’s yard.
“I’ve been worried sick about you,” Sawyer continued. “Where have you been?”
Royce couldn’t remember the last time Sawyer had gotten so angry so fast. Then again, his worry had been simmering for hours. Relief that Frank was safe hadn’t doused the fire; it had fanned the flames.
Frank’s scowl deepened. “None of your damn business.” He looked at the three young people approaching their gathering. “And what the hell do you want?”
Clint, Jen, and Chrissy looked apprehensive at his less than cordial greeting, but Royce figured they deserved worse.
“We just came to apologize, sir,” Clint said. “We’re sorry about the way we behaved.”
“Deeply sorry,” Jen added.
Chrissy nodded as she fidgeted with some loose strings on her cutoff shorts. “You didn’t deserve to be treated so poorly, and we hope you can forgive us.”
Their apologies sounded heartfelt, and their repentant expressions looked sincere, not contrived. Royce felt hope for these three for the first time since meeting them.
Frank looked genuinely surprised by the turn of events, and Royce figured that didn’t happen often. He nodded in the direction of the porch where Evan remained. His belligerent expression broadcasted he was still firmly on team douchebag and planned to stay there. “What about him?”
The trio glanced over their shoulders and met Frank’s gaze once more.
“He’s not sorry,” Clint said.
“Ever,” Chrissy added.
“He’s incapable of feeling remorse,” Jen said.
“Great,” Sawyer muttered. “We’re stranded on this island with a sociopath.” And they weren’t armed.
“The three of us are leaving as soon as the ferries are up and running again,” Clint told Frank. “We didn’t want to leave without apologizing.”
“I appreciate that,” Frank said, extending his hand to Clint. They shook hands, and Frank repeated the gesture with the girls. “Next time, come back without him. You’ll have a much better time.”
The trio agreed and started back toward their rental when a police cruiser sped down the street and stopped suddenly in Frank’s driveway.
“Now what?” Frank complained when one of the officers from yesterday, Derek Lowell, exited the driver’s side of the squad car. The passenger door opened, and a handsome older man with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut and deep-set, dark eyes stepped out of the vehicle. He wore a polo shirt with the police department’s logo embroidered on the chest. His demeanor when he strolled toward the gathering spoke of power and arrogance.
“Brought the big guns with you today, huh, Derek?” Frank asked. “My answer hasn’t changed just because you brought the chief. I didn’t vandalize Lester Moore’s boat.”
When the two newcomers joined the group, Royce saw the name Chief Chesterfield stitched beneath the logo. The man’s rigid posture spoke of many years in the military, and he assessed the group with a shrewd expression some might interpret as jaded. Royce had a sinking feeling the chief wasn’t there to ask about a busted window.