Simon Says Die (14 page)

His dark gaze flew to hers, and for a moment she thought maybe he'd realized the significance of those four numbers. But then he simply nodded, and looked back at the screen.

She let out a relieved breath, feeling as if she'd just been given a reprieve. “If there's nothing else, I'm going to bed. It's been a long day.”

“Not yet. I want to know about the note and the phone call.”

 

Chapter Thirteen

M
ADISON SHOULD HAVE
known Pierce wouldn't let her escape without another inquisition. She sighed and scooted back on the couch. “The note was taped to my front door when I got home, a couple of days after the first time I saw . . . someone . . . watching my house.”

“Typed out, not handwritten.”

“Yes.”

“Do I really have to ask you to tell me what it said?” He stared at her, waiting.

“It said, ‘You've been a very bad girl.' ”

His brow furrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She felt her face heating with embarrassment. “Damon said that to me, once, after an argument. He was upset that I'd been on his computer.”

He sat silently for a moment. “Does anyone else know he said that to you?”

“Probably. I was pretty ticked the first time he said that. I called my mom and vented with her. She's not the best at keeping secrets. For all I know, she blasted it all over the Internet on those social media sites she's so fond of.”

“The first time?”

She wrapped her arms around her middle. “He said it one other time. His voice was . . . cold, angry. I'll never forget the tone of his voice that day.”

He stared at her intently. “What did Hamilton say about the note?”

“That it was probably some neighborhood kid, playing a joke on the new lady who'd just moved in. In all fairness, he wasn't sarcastic and didn't dismiss it, not at first anyway. He looked into it. He sent his officers to ask my neighbors if they saw anything.”

She laughed harshly. “Not that anyone on my street
would
see anything. Most of the homes around me are vacant for the better part of the year, vacation homes. Right now, with it getting cold, most of the owners are in South Florida.”

“So, no one saw who left the note.”

“No.”

“Tell me about the phone call.”

She kicked her shoes off and tucked her legs beneath her on the couch. “It was after I saw the man in my backyard, by the storage shed. I was eating breakfast. The phone rang. When I answered, a voice on the line said the same thing the note said. And before you ask, no, I didn't recognize the voice. It sounded . . . odd . . . distorted, like the person speaking was purposely changing his voice.”

“But you could tell the caller was male?”

“Definitely. That much I was sure of.”

“You think it was Damon.”

“Wouldn't you? Knowing what he'd said in the past?”

He didn't answer. He typed a few notes on his laptop. “You mentioned you had files from Damon's computer. You still have those files?”

“Yes, on my laptop, back at my house.”

“We can go get your computer in the morning. What about the pictures you think are missing? Are you certain you saw them before you moved, that you didn't throw them away when you were packing?”

She blew out a breath. “We're back to that? Seriously?”

He studied her for a moment. Then he closed the laptop and turned toward her, resting his forearms on his knees. “I'm re-looking at all the evidence, trying to figure this out. Casey texted me earlier, saying he wants a sample of Damon's handwriting to compare to those bogus contracts you gave me. Do you have a sample?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “Of course not. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?” She rested her head against the back of the couch. “I had no reason to keep anything personal of his after he died. The only reason I kept those contracts was because they had to do with finances. At the time, I thought they were valid investments. But other than those, I don't have anything with his signature.”

“You're not giving me much to go on here.”

She rolled her head back and forth against the couch, so frustrated she wanted to scream. It was either that, or shoot someone. And since the only other person in the room was Pierce, she didn't exactly have any options along those lines.

Drawing a deep breath, she tried to focus on answering his questions without totally losing her composure. “I've given you
plenty
to go on. You saw him yourself. He shot you. He's real, flesh and blood, and he's after me. Why? I don't know. You know everything that's been happening—the notes, the shooting. He killed that boy this morning, and Mr. Newsome's missing.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Maybe he killed the boy, or maybe he did something to Mr. Newsome?”

“Both.”

That was it. She'd had enough. She uncurled her legs and stood. “We're done here.” She'd just reached the hallway when he was suddenly in her way, blocking her. She shoved at his chest. He winced, and she jerked her hands back.

“I'm so sorry. I forgot about your ribs. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” He blew out a breath. “Don't run away from this. I'm trying to help you, and I can't do that without the facts.”

“I've given you the facts.”

His brows drew down. “I don't think so. How did you push a divorce through for a man who'd been declared dead?”

She froze. “Push it through?”

“No court is going to continue proceedings on a divorce when one of the parties has been declared dead. What did you do? Bribe a judge?”

Her fingers curled into fists. “This is ridiculous. Why would I do that?” Her heart was hammering so loudly she could feel the blood rushing to her ears. She couldn't tell him she'd wanted that divorce in case her worst nightmares were true, in case the man who'd died in that car
wasn't
Damon.

“There's only one reason I can think of,” he continued, relentless now that he was grilling her.

“I don't want to hear this.” She turned, but he grabbed her arm.

His eyes flashed as he leaned down, inches from her face. “Eighteen months ago, a man died in a fiery car crash. You buried him in a grave with your husband's name on the tombstone. But you never cashed in the life insurance policy.”

Panic twisted inside her. She tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.

“You didn't think I knew about the insurance did you? It took some digging, but Casey found it. There's only one reason I can think of for someone not to cash in a life insurance policy. You knew Damon was alive. All this time, you've known.”

She pulled her arm, desperately trying to free herself.

“You pushed that divorce through so you wouldn't feel guilty sleeping around with other men. Did that make you feel less guilty when you slept with me?”

She jerked as if he'd struck her, pain twisting inside her chest. He was treating her like a tramp, as if she'd slept with tons of guys since Damon's death, and after she'd left Pierce. Was that really what he thought of her? She blinked, determined not to let the threatening tears flow. She wasn't going to let him know how much he'd hurt her. After Damon, Pierce had been that one bright spot in her life, the light that had made the darkness of her past fade away, if only for a brief time. Pierce was her
only
lover, besides her husband. Ever. “Let me go,” she demanded.

Instead of releasing her, his grip tightened, and he yanked her closer.

His face twisted with anger. “Did you lie about Damon? Was he really the terrible husband you portrayed him to be? Or did you make all that up?”

She gasped. “What? No. No, I didn't lie. He was . . .” She glared up at him. “I didn't lie. He was an evil man.”

“But he never hit you.”

She clenched her fists. “No. Not once. No bruises. He was far too clever for that. Just like now. He's being far more clever than you, or anyone else realizes. He's turning everyone against me, making me look like a hysterical female, a fool. He destroyed my family, and they don't even know it. I alone bear that burden. I alone live with that pain every day.”

“What did he do?” He enunciated each word, slowly, clearly, as if she were a child, and he was forced to speak that way so she'd understand him. “How did he destroy your family?”

She twisted her arm, trying to get him to let go. When he wouldn't, she jerked her knee up toward his groin, but he anticipated her action, twisting sideways.

“Let. Me. Go.” She gritted out each word.

They stared at each other for a full minute, their eyes clashing like swords on a battlefield. Finally, Pierce released her.

She fled into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

 

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE SOUND OF
the bedroom door slamming echoed through the hallway. Pierce closed his eyes, and leaned back against the wall. He hated that he'd hurt her, but from the moment he heard her security code, his frustration and anger had started a slow boil. How could she use their first date as her alarm code, as if she cared about him, and then continue to lie to him?

His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head in defeat. He didn't know how long he stood there, in the dark, thinking. It was the sound of Madison's soft snores that finally broke through his haze, and had him trudging back to his computer desk.

He plopped down in the chair and powered up the laptop again, to read the files Casey had sent him. Nothing earth shattering, nothing about Damon's life in New York that seemed any different than any other businessman. Either Casey had been a boss too long and had forgotten how to investigate, or Damon really didn't have anything lurking in his background worth finding.

If it weren't for the shooting that had started all of this, Pierce would probably be sitting in Hamilton's camp right now, thinking Madison was a crazy woman, desperate for attention, inventing shadows, faking notes.

He didn't doubt that she
believed
what she was telling everyone. She genuinely believed her husband had come back from the dead to stalk her. But what if her bitter relationship with Damon was clouding her judgment? What if the shooter was just a simple burglar, casing her house, as Casey had suggested? That scenario was just as plausible, hell, more so, than the scenario she believed.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. Logan was due back home from his honeymoon in a few more days. As soon as Logan was back in the States, Pierce was going to call him and tell him to get his butt to Savannah to take over guard duty for his sister. Her baby-blue eyes had sucked him in once, and he was hearing that sucking sound again. He needed to get out while he still could.

Tomorrow he'd get her laptop, and look through Damon's files. But the way things were going, he didn't hold out hope that the files would reveal much. Other than Madison's statements about her husband, there was nothing else backing up anything that she'd said about him, or that she even had a stalker to begin with.

Not. One. Damn. Thing.

M
ADISON WAS MUCH
calmer the next morning as she got out of Pierce's car at her house to get her laptop. He was trying to help her. She had to keep reminding herself of that. He couldn't help it if he had a suspicious, detective's brain. When she thought about everything from his perspective, she could understand his skepticism.

Especially since she
hadn't
told him everything.

“I can open my own door.” She stepped in front of him to unlock and open her front door.

His hand closed around hers. He, too, was calmer today. There was nothing of his anger from last night in his eyes, in the gentle touch of his hand on hers. “We have a truce. Remember? Part of our deal is that I'm supposed to protect you. Stop fighting me.”

She relaxed her grip beneath his. “You're right. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make this even more difficult for you.” She pulled her hand back.

“Even more difficult?”

She waved her hand in the air. “You know, being around me. I know you wouldn't be here if you didn't feel you had to, because of your promise to my brother. I'm not trying to be difficult. Really, I'm not.” She waved her hand again. “I think it just comes naturally.”

His lips twitched as if he were trying not to smile, but then he gave in to the urge and grinned. “Being with you isn't that much of a hardship. I happen to enjoy your waspish ways.”

“My waspish ways?” She put her hands on her hips. “What's that supposed to—”

“Uh-uh.” Laughter was heavy in his voice. “You can't apologize and ruin it by doing the same thing you just apologized for.”

She blew out a long breath. “Fine. Let's get my computer. I'll try to be nice.”

“Don't try too hard. Then you wouldn't be your sweet, stubborn self.”

“Now who's being ‘waspish'?”

He laughed. “I guess you're rubbing off on me.” His smile faded. “Stay behind me until I check everything out.”

She raised her hand and saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

He rolled his eyes and opened the door. He immediately held his hand out to stop her. “Hold it.”

“The alarm is beeping. I have to key in the code before it goes off.”

“I'll get it. Wait here.” He stepped farther into the foyer to the keypad.

She looked down and saw what he'd seen, a white sheet of paper on the floor. Someone must have slipped it under the door. She leaned down to pick it up.

“Don't touch it.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her with him back onto the porch. He squatted down to look at the note. As soon as he read it, he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone.

A sick feeling flashed through Madison. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Hamilton.”

“No, don't.
Please
don't call him. Can't we just ignore this? It's not like he'll figure out who left the note anyway, or how they left it. He'll just assume I'm a nutcase, or worse, arrest me like he threatened.”

“He won't arrest you. Even he can't ignore this.”

His worry began to filter into her. She leaned over his shoulder to read the words printed on the sheet of paper.

I
'M COMING FOR YOU.

M
ADISON JUMPED UP
from the wing chair across from Lieutenant Hamilton.

“We're nowhere near to being finished here,” he said.

She waved her hand toward Pierce, who was sitting beside Hamilton on the couch, and the three uniformed policemen milling around her family room.

“I don't think I have to worry about my safety inside the house with all of these guns sitting around. I'm just going to the kitchen to make us some coffee.”

“It's not your safety I'm concerned about. I don't want you finding another note for me to look into.”

“Knock it off,” Pierce said. “Madison didn't have an opportunity to leave that note. She's not the one who wrote it.”

“Typed it you mean.”

“So, your theory is she printed it while I wasn't looking and shoved it under the door?
Again, while I wasn't looking?”

“You said you brought her here to pack her things yesterday. Were you with her every moment? I assume you carried her luggage to the car. Did she wait inside, maybe make that last-minute check women like to do, to see if she'd gotten everything while you were outside at the car? And was she the last one out the door?”

Pierce didn't answer.

“That's what I thought.”

While Pierce and Hamilton were busy arguing, Madison headed into the kitchen. She pulled the pocket door closed behind her. But it only slightly dampened the sound of angry voices coming from the other room.

No surprise, Lieutenant Hamilton was playing the same old tune. He was convinced she was some nutcase who wanted attention. At least he hadn't arrested her, yet.

She grabbed the coffee can and filters out of the pantry, then slumped against the counter. Maybe he was right. Maybe she
was
losing her mind. Nothing in her life seemed to make sense anymore. And she was getting so tired of arguing, of trying to make everyone believe her, to listen to her.

She was starting not to even believe herself.

For the first time since calling Logan the day of the shooting, she seriously considered calling him and telling him everything that was going on. He was one of the smartest men she'd ever met. He'd be able to help her, wouldn't he?

She rested her elbows on the countertop and dropped her head in her hands. Logan was smart, yes. He'd be able to help, but then . . . his curiosity would drive him to keep digging, and digging, and then, when he dug far enough, he'd know her secrets.

What would happen then? No matter how hard she tried to think of a good outcome, she couldn't. No, she couldn't tell him. Not now, not ever. And somehow, she had to keep Pierce from finding out.

Before he destroyed her.

“I
F YOU'RE NOT
going to have forensics look at that note, then give it to me,” Pierce said. “I'll look into it. I want whoever is stalking Madison to stop.”

Lieutenant Hamilton flipped the plastic baggie over on the coffee table to see the back of the note that was inside. “I want all of this to stop too. We just have different views about how to make it stop.”

Pierce was suffering many of the same doubts as the lieutenant. But until he knew for sure what was going on, he had to play devil's advocate, and make sure Hamilton saw all the possibilities. “What does she have to gain by faking any of this?”

Hamilton handed the sealed baggie with the note to one of the policemen to record into evidence. “That's a good question. Since you two seem so cozy, maybe you can help me figure that out. Tell me about her. Should I trust what she says? Has she ever lied to you?”

Pierce started to say “no,” but he couldn't very well do that without lying himself.

“Uh-huh,” Hamilton said.

“She wouldn't lie about that note, or about seeing Damon at the yardman's house, or about
thinking
it was her supposedly dead husband who shot at her in the park. There wouldn't be any reason to lie.”

“Look, you know the long hours involved with law enforcement. We're overworked, and we never have enough time in a day to take care of what needs to be done. In spite of that, my team has responded every time Mrs. McKinley called. We've looked into every single complaint. But so far, other than you getting nicked in the park the other day, none of the calls have amounted to any real, verifiable threats. I can't keep investing my department's resources on wild-goose chases, not when I have some ‘Simon says' nut killing people and the press hounding me every day.”

“Has there been another murder, since that kid on East River Street?”

“Not yet, but you and I both know there will be if I don't stop whoever is behind this. I tapped your boss for help just this morning. He's analyzing the ‘Simon says' notes, and helping us profile the killer. I've got every business in the historic district after me to arrest someone. The tourism business has plummeted. That's my focus right now.”

“Meaning you're dismissing Madison's stalker. You aren't going to take this latest note seriously.”

Hamilton shook his head. “Exactly the opposite. I'm going to this note
very
seriously. I can't afford to keep splitting my resources like this, so I'm going to throw some manpower at her supposed stalker to get this wrapped up. I'm going to figure out where the paper the note was printed on came from, where the ink came from, the type of printer that printed it, who bought the printer that printed the note, and finally, the computer that was used to compose the note. And then, I'll arrest whoever typed it. It just so happens that I believe I'm going to find out that Mrs. McKinley typed it on her computer, printed it on her printer, and she planted it under her front door as she was leaving with you yesterday so you could find it today.”

“Why? Why would she do that?”

“I don't know. Has it occurred to you the woman needs help? Mental help?”

Pierce shoved off the couch and paced in front of Hamilton. “You've totally lost perspective on this case.”

The lieutenant shrugged. “Some might say it's you who has lost their perspective. Alex told me that you and Mrs. McKinley used to date, that you were quite serious at one point.”

Pierce stopped in front of him. “You have no business talking to Alex about my past.”

“He's worried about you, and he has the same doubts about Mrs. McKinley that I do. As soon as it's a decent hour, I'm calling a judge for a search warrant. Until then, I'll have Officer Drayton”—he nodded at the policeman to his immediate right—“ensure Mrs. McKinley doesn't destroy any evidence.”

Pierce swore and headed through the archway into Madison's home office. He stood at the window, looking out onto the street. He took a bracing breath, grimacing when his ribs protested. How had it come to this? How had everything gotten so totally screwed up? He stood looking out the window for several minutes, trying to make sense of everything, to clear his thoughts.

When Pierce finally returned to the family room for round two, Hamilton was sitting on the couch, but there was no one else in the room. A feeling of dread shot through him. “Where are the police officers who were in here earlier?”

“Drayton is standing guard out front, to ensure no one leaves with any of the evidence—namely Mrs. McKinley's computer and printer.”

Pierce shook his head at that nonsense. “And the other officer?”

“I told him to keep an eye on Mrs. McKinley.”

“What are you doing? Are you
trying
to bait her?” He whirled around and headed toward the kitchen. He wouldn't put it past Hamilton to purposely try to goad Madison, to see what she might reveal if she lost her temper.

M
ADISON GLANCED UP
from the automatic coffeemaker when the pocket door between the family room and kitchen opened. A police officer stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Ma'am,” he said. “The lieutenant wanted me to check on you, see if you needed any help in here.”

Right. Suddenly Hamilton was concerned about her. She didn't believe that for a second.

She pressed the coffeemaker's
ON
button. “I think I can handle the incredibly difficult task of making coffee all by myself. Thanks anyway.”