Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (7 page)

While waiting impatiently for Mike to arrive, Madeline worked up the courage to investigate the rest of the house. She checked the kitchen first, knowing there was little that could be altered, unless someone had the time and inclination to rearrange her cupboards.

When she turned on the light switch, she found the room to be exactly as she had left it. Heaving a sigh of relief, she took her coffee cup over to the sink to rinse it out. Before her hand reached the faucet lever, her heart took another jolt. This time it came from seeing her Wusthof butcher knife lodged through the center of an apple and left in the sink, apparently as
a warning.

Madeline backed away slowly while the threat registered. She turned to flee the room, belatedly setting the coffee cup back on the kitchen table. She grabbed her phone and called
Mike again.

“I’m almost there,” he said before she could get a word out. “Maddie, are
you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she managed to say at length.

“What is it? Did you find something else? Have you called
the cops?”

“No,
not yet.”

“Do it now. I’m two minutes from you.” Madeline crept past the living room and down the hall to the bedrooms and bathroom. “Maddie, did you hear me? Are you
still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered as she turned on the bathroom light. No slash marks through the shower curtain, at least.

“Listen, go outside and wait for me on the front steps. Leave any lights on. I’m turning up your street now. Hang up and call the police, okay?”

“All right, I’ll be on the sidewalk.”

Madeline swooped down and grabbed her handbag on her way out. She never quite got over losing the last Prada bag and all its contents. At least she’d have something if the house suddenly burst into flames. This last thought propelled her out the door and down the steps, just as Mike’s old Mercedes lurched into
the driveway.

EIGHT

Mike and Madeline made a small island as they stood in the middle of her living room, fielding questions from the local police and federal agents. Madeline guessed there were at least eight individuals linked to law enforcement combing every inch of her little house, inside and out. As she was giving her statement of events for the second time, the group was interrupted by an FBI agent wearing a bullet-proof vest over a long-
sleeve shirt.

“We located the source for the alarm system under the house. The wires have not been cut. By the evenness of the dust that was covering it, I’d say it hadn’t been touched. We took photos and had it dusted for prints anyway.” FBI Agent Caulfield nodded his thanks and the man left to pursue
other clues.

Both Madeline and Mike were picking up certain vibes from the investigating teams. Oddly, the locals seemed to treat the B&E of Madeline’s home more seriously. They found this especially curious since the Feds had turned Yeoman to get more evidence against Usherwood.

“Excuse me,” Madeline butted in as Agent Caulfield grilled her again on the time frame of events. “Why am I getting the impression this scene is all immaterial
to you?”

Agent Caulfield cocked his head as he considered this accusation. “Ma’am, we’ve got six agents collecting evidence from virtually every surface of your home. We responded to Detective Slovitch’s call in under thirty minutes. What about our response
troubles you?”

“She’s just had a horrible shock,” Mike said, trying to make nice for the sake
of cooperation.

“You don’t need to apologize for me,” Madeline snapped, stepping in front of her partner to further confront Caulfield.

“What’s really bothering you, Ms. Dawkins?” Caulfield asked, tucking his pad under his arm as he appraised her.

“When Yeoman’s body was found at Lake Cachuma, why didn’t that put the FBI on
high alert?”

“
It did.”

“Oh, really? Then why was it overlooked that I had as much skin in the game as Yeoman where Usherwood is concerned? Maybe more, considering his whole rotten operation was brought down
by me.”

“It wasn’t, I can
assure you—”

“I’m not assured,” Madeline said, hands on hips as she faced off with Caulfield. “How can I feel assured when I was such an obvious target for Usherwood, yet there was no surveillance on my home?”

“Ma’am—”

“It’s Madeline. Madeline Dawkins. Former kidnap victim of Lionel Usherwood.”

Agent Caulfield lowered his head and took a deep breath. “Madeline, how about if we have a seat somewhere?” Caulfield raised his hand to get the attention of the closest investigator. “Has the kitchen area been sampled yet? We need a place to sit,” he said.

“Let me find out.” The young man slipped into the kitchen and reappeared a few seconds later. “Kitchen table and chairs are good to go.” Caulfield extended his hand and let Madeline lead the way. Mike gave Caulfield a look and fell in step behind her. When they were seated, the agent who gave them the all-clear appeared with the box of now-cold pizza that had been delivered in the middle of the law enforcement convergence. He placed it on the table and
walked away.

Mike opened the box, hoping the aroma would spark Madeline’s appetite. One whiff of it made the color drain away from her face. Mike got up to shift it to the counter, but the same man who brought it to the table intercepted it. He took it to another area that had already
been cleared.

Agent Caulfield directed his remarks to Madeline. “Contrary to what you might think, we have considered you as a likely target for Usherwood, if in reality he’s the one who took out Yeoman.”

Madeline’s shrug was like a dare. “So…that translated into what, exactly? Have you been reading my emails or tracking my calls? It certainly doesn’t appear that you’ve had anyone watching my place.”

Caulfield cleared his throat. “Actually, we did have surveillance on your house and place of business.”

Madeline reared back in astonishment. “Then how the hell did Usherwood slip past you?” she asked, her voice teetering on shrill, arms extended in exasperation.

Caulfield kept his gaze steady as he answered the rebuke. “We’ve had agents making regular tours of your area. Obviously, counterespionage is Usherwood’s stock in trade. He wouldn’t come near either of your places if he detected our presence.”

Madeline barked out a harsh laugh and leapt to her feet. “Are you kidding me? You…” she was so furious, she could barely get the words out, “you were basically using me as bait, weren’t you?” Mike got to his feet in an attempt to calm her down. It didn’t work. She brushed his hands away and turned all her anger and indignation loose on
the agent.

“All you care about is catching the big criminal. You don’t give a damn about collateral damage, do you? If I happen to die in the process of you getting your man, it would just be one more offense to tack onto his sheet. Wouldn’t that make it an even bigger catch as far as the bureau is concerned?” Madeline glared at Caulfield hotly, begging him to cross
her again.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Agent Caulfield said, his tone almost lethargic.

Madeline grunted at his response. “How have I gotten it wrong? What if I had arrived earlier and surprised Usherwood? You’d be measuring blood splatters right now instead of giving me the
third degree.”

“How about a drink?” Mike offered.

Madeline shook her head. She was using the last bit of her energy to hold the FBI accountable for their lax surveillance techniques and the invasion of
her home.

“What are you going to do now? Have you got any clue where Usherwood is? Are you going to have someone trail me around town and camp out on my doorsteps?” Exasperated, she lurched toward the sink for a glass
of water.

“I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re still dusting for prints,” another uniformed agent said, halting her in the middle of the room. She could feel tears brimming in her eyes as she glared dejectedly at him.

“Can you just bring me a glass
of water?”

“Sure…I can
do that.”

“Thank you.” Madeline turned back to Mike and Caulfield, all her anger suddenly spent. She sank onto a chair and stared blankly at the table, her arms tucked between her legs, her back uncharacteristically bowed. Mike and the agent
exchanged glances.

“It doesn’t appear that you’ve registered with one of our victim specialists,” Agent Caulfield said.

Madeline looked up at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”

“We have special agents who deal directly with crime victims. Because Usherwood is one of our cases, and since he abducted you with the intent of killing you, we can offer
special services—”

“Like what? A personal bodyguard? A
safe house?”

“Like counseling,” Caulfield said.

Madeline stared at him in disbelief before laughing harshly. “Counseling? That’s the kind of help I’m going to get from your agency? Am I hallucinating?” She turned to Mike. “Get me out of here,” she said as she
turned away.

“I’m afraid you can’t go yet. We still need your help here.”

“And I need the kind of help you can’t give me, apparently. Knock yourselves out—tear the place apart. And if you find anything useful, I’d like you to share it with Detective Slovitch. He’s got our
contact information.”

Mike fumbled one of his cards out of his wallet and handed it
to Caulfield.

“Are you going to have anyone covering her?”
he asked.

“We’ll continue with the resources we have
in place.”

“Great,” Mike said caustically as he went in search of Madeline. He found her trying to enter her bedroom. She was getting the bum’s rush from one of Caulfield’s men. Mike could tell she was trying not to lose her patience and on the verge
of failing.

“I just need to pack a few of my things so I can get out of here,” he heard
her say.

“We haven’t finished in this room yet, ma’am.”

“Quit calling me “ma’am” and get out of my way. I have a very busy schedule the next few days and I need a change of clothing. I can’t go running around in my karate clothes indefinitely,” she said trying to get past the agent. Mike intervened before she got herself arrested.

“Let’s go, Maddie. We can come back in the morning,” Mike said, gently leading her down the hallway. She gathered together the items she’d dropped when she came in and led the way out to Mike’s car. At that point, she didn’t care if she ever saw her house again. A change of scenery did sound very appealing, like Tahiti or Bora Bora.

She huffed mockingly at her indulgent fantasy. She was stuck in Santa Barbara in the middle of the biggest event she’d ever overseen and taken on her first case, which at this point seemed like just one more headache.

That she couldn’t even hide away in her own home to fortify herself for the coming days was a fitting insult in an already gloomy scenario. She was on Lionel Usherwood’s hit list and had to babysit a hot mess for a three-day narcissistic wallow. To top it off, she had to find out if an illegal alien had stolen valuable heirlooms from a famous director’s mother. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why she thought being an event coordinator and a private investigator were such good
career moves.

NINE

Madeline sat back as Mike slid a plate of scrambled eggs and hot buttered toast in front of her. She smiled wanly at him and picked up a piece of toast and brought it to her mouth, but it hung there as if she had either forgotten how to eat or couldn’t quite stomach food yet. She set it back on the plate and placed her elbows on either side of it. Mike set a mug of steaming tea next to her and
sat down.

“Maddie, try to eat something before it gets cold,” he said softly, rubbing her knee under the table. “I know what I forgot,” he said as he got up to retrieve a jar of expensive cherry preserves. He cracked the seal and ladled a dollop of the bright red jam onto a slice of toast.

“Now doesn’t that look good?” he said, his features animated as if he were speaking to a child. Madeline laughed, though in her condition it sounded more like a sputter. “Please…one bite?” Mike negotiated.

Madeline moistened her lips and took the slice of toast Mike held in front of her. She took a bite and chewed mechanically, her head lowered. Once she had dispatched that bite to her stomach, her natural instincts for self-preservation kicked in. She ate two more bites and then went at the eggs in large forkfuls.

“Good?” Mike asked.

Madeline nodded, managing a shy smile. “Do you have any cream?” she asked, taking the tea bag out of the mug. Mike was out of his chair like a shot. “And some sugar,” she said through a mouthful of food.

Once she had pierced the knotted barrier in her stomach, she realized how ravenously hungry she was. She had been famished when she ordered the pizza three hours earlier. Now that she was wiping up the last traces of egg with her toast, she already felt more like a human being.

“Want some more?” Mike asked as Madeline dipped the last corner of toast in the jam.

“Okay.”

Mike beamed as he plopped another slice in the toaster.

“What about you?” she asked, turning around in the chair to face him.

“I was just finishing my carnitas tacos when you called.” He sat down next to her, taking one of her hands in his. Madeline knew he was worried about her, but she didn’t feel like discussing it. She gave his hand a squeeze and let it go. She ran both hands through her hair and pulled it back and tied it in a loose knot. She sat staring at her plate, unwilling to look at Mike. She let out an ironic laugh and
sighed heavily.

Mike sat watching her, his face so full of concern, it seemed almost mournful. Madeline found it hard to look at him. She got up and wandered the small kitchen. She stopped in front of the toaster and stared, willing the bread to brown so she’d have something productive
to do.

“Maddie, I’ll take care of that,” Mike said, getting to his feet. “Come and
sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” Madeline said, her
voice edgy.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but you should talk
to someone.”

“Oh sure…like an FBI ‘special agent?’” she barked cynically. Mike came and stood next to her, but this made her feel even edgier.

“I need to take a shower,” she said, heading toward
the bathroom.

“What about your toast?” When Madeline didn’t answer, he popped the toast up and went after her. He found her sitting on the corner of his bed, arms wrapped around herself, head bent. He stood there without speaking, unsure of how to help her. After a minute she finally looked up at him, her eyes brimming
with tears.

“Maddie,” he said, his heart wrenched to see the hurt and fear in her eyes. He fought back the catch in his throat and eased down beside her. When she didn’t recoil, he slipped his arm around her and held her close, rocking her as sobs broke through her protective barrier. He stroked her hair and kissed the side of her head and tried to say comforting things, but they seemed so shallow compared to what she was
up against.

“I need to take a shower,” she said, pulling away. Mike tried to grab her hand, but anger made her pry it loose. She knew Mike was frightened for her and for some reason this grated on
her nerves.

“Don’t be doing that,” she snapped. She rummaged through her handbag for a brush and ran it furiously through
her hair.

“I’m just worried
for you.”

“I know. I know. But acting like I’m going to self-destruct any second isn’t going to do any good,” she said, her voice hard and cold. Mike stiffened; he’d witnessed enough tirades in his life to know the warning signs. And he’d been on the other side of those angry features more often than he cared to remember. Any word he uttered at this point was guaranteed to set
her off.

“What?” she demanded.

“I didn’t
say anything.”

“You don’t have to—I can read
your thoughts.”

“I can’t stop thinking,” Mike said. Madeline fumed; she was itching for a fight and Mike wouldn’t give her a reason to throw a proper fit.

“Goddammit!” she swore, hurling her brush across the room. Mike cringed as it narrowly missed the mirror. “This isn’t fair! This is…so insane. I mean, the FBI knows Usherwood’s stalking me and is just trying to scare me senseless before he
kills me…”

“Don’t say that!” Mike said, jumping to
his feet.

“It’s the truth! You don’t know what a psycho that man is. God knows what hell he put Rick Yeoman through before putting him out of
his misery.”

“According to the coroner’s report, there weren’t any other injuries except for the single gunshot to
the head—”

“I’m talking about psychological torture, the kind I went through three years ago.” Mike made the mistake of trying to reach for her. This only fueled her harangue.

“I had finally gotten to the point where I didn’t tense up any time I heard footsteps behind me. As soon as I got comfortable in my skin again, Usherwood resurfaces—or his hired gun. The truth is no one knows for sure where he is. And even after they rip my house apart, they still won’t know because they’re not going to find a single speck of evidence that he or anyone with a rap sheet has been there. It was a carefully planned and executed act
of terror.”

Mike didn’t know what to say. He knew she was right and his instincts told him the Feds didn’t seem to take the threat to Madeline’s safety very seriously. They went through the pantomime of a thorough investigation, but he picked up a peculiar vibe from Agent Caulfield. He didn’t dare say it to Madeline, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they thought Madeline had rearranged her own furniture and put the cleaver through the apple just to garner some protection.

“And that stupid Caulfield acted like
I’d
created that scene just for attention. It really pisses me off,” Madeline fumed. She stopped her rant long enough to zero in on Mike’s thoughts. After knowing him off and on for over twenty years, she could pick up on the slightest shift in
his expression.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” she said, pouncing on
his silence.

“Yeah…I did. But you have to remember they’ve seen it all…”

Madeline didn’t hide her irritation. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? If they’re so hip to human idiosyncrasies, why haven’t they been able to anticipate Usherwood’s next move? Or even figure out his last?” Madeline let out a vexed sigh and picked up her
hair brush.

“I think Slovitch gets it. I’m not saying he has a portal into Usherwood’s brain, but at least he knows what he did to you, and Burt.”

At the mention of her dead P.I., Madeline’s features seemed to sag. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, turning her back on Mike as she slipped out of her karate gear and kicked it into a pile.

Mike sat and listened to the water beat against the shower door. If Madeline was venting her pent-up rage and frustration, he couldn’t hear it.

After a few minutes, he got up and went to the drawer he had designated as hers for those spontaneous occasions when they both put aside the past and the present and took care of their basic human needs. He took out a T-shirt, undies and the pair of socks she liked to sleep in and laid them out on the bed where she could find them. He passed a hand through his hair as he fought down the urge for alcohol. He could use a meeting right about then, but there was no way he was going to let Madeline out of
his sight.