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Landry remembered the look on Willa’s face when she’d been told that. She didn’t seem to believe it. He wasn’t sure he did when he recalled how Blossom had been fighting to surface, striking out at water as if she thought someone was holding her down.
Blossom, that is Angela Warren, turned out to be a young prostitute whom Simon had once arrested. A hundred thousand dollars was found in her checking account supporting what Landry said about Simon hiring Angela to pose as Blossom at Cape Diablo to get the disk—and get rid of Willa and Landry.
Odell, it was assumed, had either run across Angela as an investigative reporter and recognized her when she came to the island or let it slip what he was working on and it had gotten him killed.
Henri had been exactly who she said she was. Nothing more than a guest on the island. While Landry had been suspicious when she’d pretended to be drunker than she was, he suspected she was just hoping Odell would take advantage.
Maybe she really had come to the island thinking she wanted solitude to get over her recent breakup. But once she’d met Odell she must have decided she wouldn’t mind a little male comfort. Instead, she’d only met death.
Henri had definitely picked the wrong island for any kind of peace. Willa had made the same mistake. Only, he thanked God, with a different ending.
While Willa gave her statement and was released, Landry had been held for more questioning. With the information on the disk, the police and feds were able to throw a wide net over organized crime in Florida, bringing down Freddy D. and his associates and underlings, except for T and Worm.
Their bodies were found in a dump, both shot, gangland-style, in the back of their heads. Freddy D. no doubt had heard about Simon Renton’s “second” death on Cape Diablo and realized T and Worm had double-crossed him.
When the cops were finally satisfied with what was on the disk and Landry’s and Willa’s statement, the chief broke the story, dragged him in front of the blazing lights of the media and gave him a medal. The story made headlines across the state. He was a hero.
He hadn’t wanted any of it.
But once labele
d as a dirty cop, it took a hell of a lot of fanfare to clear his name and he wanted that more than anything. He needed that before he could go find Willa St. Clair.
He’d heard she’d gone back to South Dakota, some tiny town he couldn’t even find on a map. He’d had to fly into the capital of Pierre at the center of the state and rent a car, driving north until he spotted a grain elevator with Alkali Butte printed on it.
After that, he’d only had to ask for directions, then taken a series of dirt roads until he spotted the white farmhouse on the horizon and slowed to pull into the drive.
* * *
WILLA HEARD THE VEHICLE pull into the farm yard and looked up from her painting to see the unfamiliar car stop in a cloud of dust.
She’d never thought she’d come back to South Dakota. But after everything that had happened, she realized a true home didn’t have to be one you’d been raised in all your life. It was anywhere there were people who loved you.
Her mother and stepfather had been wonderful through all of this. She’d seen how much her stepfather loved her mother and it had made her realize she’d never given him a chance.
Being around family had helped her regain her strength if not heal her aching heart. But she was painting again and that she knew was a sign that she would be all right.
“Who’s that?” her mother called from the kitchen. The house smelled of homemade bread and beef stew since it was almost suppertime.
“Someone lost,” Willa called back as she put down her paintbrush. No other unfamiliar cars ended up in the yard otherwise. “I’ll take care of it.”
She left the small room off the living room where she’d set up her studio and walked to the door, pushing open the screen to squint out at the car, the sun glinting off the windshield.
The driver’s door slowly opened.
She blinked, her heart soaring as Landry Jones climbed out. Over the weeks since she’d seen him she’d heard he’d cleared his name. But she’d never expected to see him again. Because she never planned to go back to Florida. And she’d never dreamed he’d come all the way to South Dakota.
“Hello, darlin’,” he said, stopping on the bottom porch step. “You’re a hard woman to find, Willa St. Clair.”
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as tears welled in her eyes. “Landry, what—” That’s all she got out before he was up the steps and she was in his arms.
“I love you, Willa St. Clair,” he said, and then he was kissing her.
Behind her she heard the screen door creak open. “This must be Landry Jones,” she heard her mother say. “I’ll set another plate.” The screen door closed with another creak.
Landry pulled back from the kiss and grinned at her. “I already like your mother,” he whispered. “But then I adore her daughter.”
Her heart leaped.
