In the Shadow of Evil (25 page)

HOW COULD ALANA HAVE said that? Talk about embarrassing. Heat coated her from head to toe—she could only imagine what Maddox thought.

His blue eyes deepened as he grinned at her. "Alana thought I was bad?"

"When you questioned her about where she was at the time of the murder."

"Ah, so I was bad cop to Houston's good, right?"

"Don't tell me you two actually do that on purpose."

It was his turn to blush. She didn't feel so bad now. "I thought that was only for television dramas."

"Nah. Houston and I perfected it years ago." He scowled. "Does it work? Is it intimidating?"

She burst out laughing, then almost choked on a breath. Layla covered her mouth with her hand, horrified. How could she be standing here laughing when Cameron was being prepped to be airlifted to another hospital? How could she flirt while her sister's life was in such shambles?

Maddox touched her shoulder. "It's okay to be alive, you know."

Did she chastise herself out loud?

"Laughing is nothing to feel guilty about."

Or had he read her mind?

"Come on, let's get out of here." He slipped his hand to the small of her back.

She let him lead her to the elevator, not trusting herself to speak. Either she'd spoken aloud, or her emotions marched across her face. Didn't matter—both options mortified her.

The elevator doors slid closed. Silence hung heavy between them.

"So, does that mean you didn't think I was all that intimidating?"

Her heart slipped sideways in her chest. "Huh?"

"If you told Alana I wasn't as bad as she thought, does that mean you don't find me intimidating?"

Ding!
The elevator grinded to a stop.

Saved by the bell . . . kinda.

Layla pushed from the elevator as soon as the doors opened. Maddox's low chuckle dogged her heels, finding amusement at her embarrassment, the cad. She needed to get away to save what was left of her dignity. Her composure. Her—

Oh, splinters! She didn't have her truck here. She'd ridden with Maddox. Stuck. Keeping her head down, she stopped at the entrance.

Maddox's warm hand found the small of her back again. It felt comforting. Familiar. "Come on. I'll take you home. I imagine you're beat."

The sun making strides to the center of the sky did nothing to warm the chilly air. The wind cut through Layla's sweats. She shivered as they made their way to his Mustang.

He turned the defrost to high as soon as he started the vehicle. "As soon as it warms up, I'll flip it to heat."

She nodded and shoved her hands under her thighs for warmth. She prayed he wouldn't continue the humiliating conversation because she honestly didn't know what she'd say. She'd been on full-speed-ahead for so many days, she couldn't think properly, much less figure out her emotions.

But one thing was certain—she was drawn to Maddox Bishop in a way she'd never been drawn to Randy.

What did that say about her? She didn't have the energy to analyze what she was feeling.

Maddox switched the blower to heat. As warmth seeped through her, the exhaustion caught up with her. She yawned. And again. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back on the headrest. She had to rest her eyes. Just for a moment.

From a distance she heard Maddox talking on a phone. She could barely pick out some of the words.
Commander. Stupid. Needs protection. Ourselves. Thanks.

As much as she wanted to know what he was talking about, she couldn't move. Her head was so heavy all of a sudden. She was so warm. Comfortable. Secure.

"Layla." Maddox's soft voice sounded so far away, like from the dark recesses of her mind.

She didn't want to think about him right now. She just wanted to stay as she was.

"Layla." This time, Maddox's voice was accompanied by a warm hand on her shoulder. So realistic. What a dream.

And then she was shaken. "You're home."

She bolted upright in the front seat of his Mustang. Oh, splinters, she'd fallen asleep. She ran the back of her hand across her mouth. Had she drooled? Had she spoken in her sleep? Talk about mortification.

Blinking rapidly, she grabbed her purse. "Right. Thanks for the ride." She reached for the door handle.

"Actually, can I come inside? I have something to discuss with you."

That brought her fully awake. What now? "S-sure." She led the way up the stairs, unlocked the door, and gestured for him to follow her inside. Layla flipped on the lights, tossed her purse on the entry table, then sat in her cushiony recliner.

Maddox lowered himself to the couch. "It's a really nice place you have here."

"Thanks." The reply was automatic. Fatigue tugged at her. She yawned. "But I'm sure that's not what you wanted to discuss with me."

"No, it isn't." He ran a hand over the top of his hair.

Did he realize he did that a lot, normally when he was frustrated? It was kinda cute, actually. That a big, strong cop would—

"We need to talk about the threat. To you."

Butterflies erupted in her stomach. "Okay."

"Do you have any clue who would have sent that text to Alana?"

Was he for real? That was the stupidest question he'd asked yet. Even more stupid than asking for an alibi. "Now, if I did, don't you think I would've said something to you?"

His blue eyes clouded. "We're tracing the number the text came from right now, so we should have a definite answer soon. I'm just trying to figure out who you questioned."

She ducked her head. "I was only trying to get some idea of who killed Dennis."

"I know. But now I need you to tell me who all you talked with about it."

"Everyone I contracted for the project—carpenters, suppliers, electrician, and plumber. I talked to all of them."

"Then that narrows down the list of people who could've threatened you."

She gripped her hands together in her lap. "Trust me, I want to help you find out who's responsible."

"We will, that's our job. But you need to leave the investigating to us. Okay?"

"Yeah." Because of her questions, Cameron might die. Alana would never forgive her.

She'd never forgive herself.

"Something else."

She lifted her head to stare at him. "What?"

"There's danger of another threat. I need to make sure you're safe."

Her tired body went stiff. "What do you mean?"

His face reddened, and his gaze dropped to the floor. "Our commander doesn't think there's enough evidence to put you under police protection."

Oh-kay. "But?"

"But Houston and I do." His lifted his gaze to hers.

"So?" Maybe she was just utterly beat, but she wasn't following.

"I'd like permission for Houston and me to protect you in the evenings on our own time. To stay here, maybe on your couch. Just to make sure you're safe."

Here? Sleeping? In her house? Just down the hall from her?

She blinked, trying to imagine that. Trying to figure out how she'd be able to do anything with Maddox in proximity to her.

He stared at her with those hypnotic blue eyes of his. They yanked on her heart.

Oh, splinters.

TWENTY-FOUR

"All men profess honesty as long as they can. To believe all men honest would be folly. To believe none so is something worse."

—JOHN QUINCY ADAMS

THE BUILDING WAS SUPPOSED to have been empty.

He stared at the television screen, bile burning the back of his throat. Alana's fiancé would be airlifted to Baton Rouge for care in the burn-specialty unit.

They weren't supposed to be there. They'd had dinner reservations. He'd timed the bomb perfectly so no one would be there. No one was supposed to have gotten hurt.

But Cameron Stone had. Critically so.

Acid rebelled in his stomach. He stood, pacing, a drink in his hand. How had this gotten so out of control? He wasn't a murderer . . . an arsonist . . . a bomber. He was just a man trying his best to go straight and take care of his kids.

He was a good person. Sensitive. Caring, despite what Andrea claimed. He was loyal. Dependable. All his colleagues said so.

Why weren't Alana and Cameron at the restaurant in Lake Charles when the bomb went off? He'd double-checked the timer—no way it detonated early.

The news flashed to the hospital where a representative from the Center for Disease Control was interviewed. He turned up the volume, paying careful attention to the suit's words.

"We've established the common denominator in this illness. At this time, the CDC has temporarily closed the doors to the Eternal Springs Christian Church. As soon as we have more details, we'll alert the public. That's all. Thank you."

He threw his glass at the television. It crashed against the screen, glass tinkling to the floor. The flatscreen was ruined, shattered. Amber liquid oozed down the front, dripping onto the entertainment center and floor.

His carefully detailed plans were imploding. His body went limp, and he crumbled to the hard, cold floor. He lowered his head into his hands.

What had he done?

How could he save himself?

WHAT IF SHE REFUSED?

Maddox tried to read Layla's expression, but her facial features were set in stone. Maybe he should've had Houston broach the subject with her. She didn't move, didn't even flinch. He knew she'd heard him. Why wasn't she saying anything?

He cleared the unease from his throat. "Layla?"

She gave a little shake, as if mentally focusing. "What?"

Had she totally zoned out? "Permission for me and Houston to stay here and protect you at night?"

She stared at him, totally attentive. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

Man, did he ever. But he didn't want to scare her either. "I do." And if she refused, he and Houston would just monitor her house from the drive. That would be less than ideal—not being able to see threats coming from the bayou behind her house—but he would not sit by and do nothing. Anything was better than that.

"Okay."

Just that one word from her sent all sorts of emotions racing through him. Of course, the way her eyes stared at him with such trust in their green irises might have something to do with it too.

What was happening to him? After his resolve to never get seriously involved with a woman . . . traitorous emotions.

Responsibility sat heavy in his gut. "All right." He stood. "I've got to run and check on my dad, pick up some clothes, touch base with Houston, and then we'll be back."

She stood as well, a little wobbly. "I'll get some blankets for whoever has the couch. There are fresh linens on the guest-room bed already."

He already knew he'd get stuck with the couch. Houston was all for doing his job, but he liked comfort too.

Maddox smiled as he fished his keys from his pocket. "We should be back in a couple of hours or so. Until then, keep your door locked."

She grinned back at him. "Yes, sir."

"I'm serious."

"I'm going to take a hot shower, then take a little nap."

"I'll see you soon, then." He waited until she nodded, then left.

As he raced down the bayou road back to town, a sick feeling came over him. What if someone was watching her house right now? Waiting until he left? Maddox gripped the gearshift tightly.
Don't be silly. There's no one watching. No one waiting to attack her.

But he still drove a little faster.

He grabbed his cell phone, pressed the speed-dial button for his partner, and waited while the connection went through.

"What now?" Houston loved caller ID.

"She gave us permission to stake out her place."

Houston chuckled. "Sounds like you had to argue it."

"No. Just had to be convincing."

"I've finished my report on my interview with Denny Keys—nothing of any importance there. Thought I'd swing by and do a quick interview with Bob Johnson and Ed Young. Care to join me?"

Maddox glanced at the clock on the dash—3:20. Plenty of time to knock out those two interviews, check on Pop, get some clothes, then be back at Layla's before it got really dark. "Which one is up first?"

"Y Building Supplies is closer to the office, so let's hit that one." Houston gave the address.

"Meet you there in fifteen." Maddox disconnected the call but didn't shut his phone. He pressed the preset number for Uncle George as he zoomed out of Westlake's city limits, heading to Lake Charles.

George picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Maddox. How ya doing?"

"Good. How's Pop?"

George chuckled. "Cheating. We're playing Texas Hold 'Em."

Maddox could make out Pop's objections to being called a cheater. Sounded like he was his old self. Would he even remember his sleepy words to his son this morning? That seemed like an eternity ago.

"Don't let him cheat. Look, this case I'm working is gonna have me out the next couple of nights. I hate to impose on you, but would you mind terribly staying with Pop?"

"Don't mind at all, son. As long as he stops cheating." George chuckled amid Pop's protests again.

"Thanks, Uncle George. I really appreciate it."

"This the case involving that girl, Layla?"

He checked his rearview mirror before he got on the bridge. "Yeah. And it's connected to the bomb over at Second Chances."