Simon Says Die (17 page)

 

Chapter Seventeen

A
T THE NOON
hour, Braedon ordered boxed lunches to be delivered from a local café. After everyone wolfed down their sandwiches, they headed out again on their assigned search routes. Work continued on the footers in the backyard, but even though the footers were being dug at a record pace, nothing of interest had turned up. No clues about why someone was so determined to stop the renovations, if that was even the case.

Pierce rounded the house from checking on his brothers in the backyard and was about to head inside when Hamilton drove up. Pierce waited for the lieutenant to join him before going inside.

“Finally got a few hours sleep?” Pierce asked.

“Had to,” Hamilton said. “It's hard to keep the respect of your troops when they wake you up in a puddle of drool on the coffee table.”

Pierce slapped him on the back. “Tessa just got here. She said she has some news.”

“Any news has got to be better than the big zero we have right now.”

Pierce wasn't so sure he agreed. Tessa had flatly refused to give him any information on the phone, and she hadn't sounded enthusiastic about what she'd found. Instead, she'd sounded downright grim.

Tessa glanced up from her seat on the couch when they came inside. “You're not going to like this.”

“I didn't think you'd come here to deliver good news.” Pierce sat down on the other couch. Hamilton took one of the chairs.

Tessa set a file on the coffee table. “We can go over this in more detail later. I'll just give you the highlights. As far as the motel is concerned, the woman in those photographs is definitely not under any duress. I see no signs of coercion, and I interviewed three witnesses that saw her and the man she was with entering the motel room. All three were positive, without exception, that the two were an amorous couple.”

Pierce scrubbed his face. “And you believe the woman was Madison.”

Tessa nodded. “I believe the facts. None of the facts support the conclusion that it's not her.”

“We'll come back to that later. What else do you have?”

She flipped the folder open and spread out a stack of faxes and printouts. “This is the dossier Casey—” she stopped, glancing up at Hamilton, as if she'd just realized she'd said something she shouldn't have said.

He rolled his eyes. “Like I didn't suspect Agent Matthews was helping you two. I'm sure he's focusing on the ‘Simon says' case too. Go on.” He waved for her to continue.

She nodded her thanks. “Casey dug as much as he could on Damon McKinley. The man is a saint. He doesn't have a criminal record, not even a speeding ticket. He was born and raised in Montana, was well-respected in his community. The only negative about him that I could find is that he had a lot of health problems, and he didn't seem to allow anyone to get close to him. He was reclusive, no friends, no family. No one knew him all that well, but he was generous with local charities and had an excellent reputation as a philanthropist in his community back in Montana.”

“How far back did you go?” Pierce asked.

“All the way . . . birth.”

That feeling of unease was starting up inside Pierce again. “That's not the picture Madison painted of him.”

“He was an entrepreneur, like she said. He made a lot of money, but he gave away half as much as he earned.”

Pierce stood and paced behind the couch. “Why did he move to New York if he was such a respected saint in his hometown?”

“That I can't answer. My theory is he got bored, wanted new challenges, new territory to invest in and build his wealth. I'm sorry, Pierce, but this man doesn't sound like someone who would fake his death and stalk his former wife.”

Pierce stopped behind her. “Are you telling me you can't find one single bad thing on him?”

“Not so far.”

The front door opened and Matt stepped inside. When he saw Tessa, he frowned and strode over to the couch.

Tessa barely spared him a glance. She looked over at Hamilton, who was following the conversation with fascinated interest. “On paper at least, Damon McKinley was a model citizen who had nothing to gain by faking his death. Madison, on the other hand, had everything to gain. She didn't become wealthy in her own right until after she inherited her father's money. Her husband had a million dollars in the bank when he died, money that went straight to Madison.”

Pierce looked between Tessa and Hamilton. “You're both so convinced Damon is a good guy.”

“I'm not.” Matt crossed his arms and glared at Tessa.

“
Was
a good guy,” she said, ignoring Matt. “He's dead.”

“I'm inclined to believe a woman knows her own husband,” Pierce said. “Madison said the man in the park was her husband. I believe her.”

“You didn't seem so sure when she first went missing,” Hamilton said.

“I'm sure now.”

“Why? What's changed?”

“Twenty-four hours, that's what's changed. Something has happened to her or she would have called. She wouldn't put me through this type of hell on purpose.” As soon as the words were out, he snapped his jaw shut. The look of pity on Tessa's face had him wishing he'd never asked for her help.

“Why would Damon stalk her?” Tessa's voice was soft, hesitant, as if she were afraid he was on the verge of breaking down.

“I don't know, not yet. What I need you all to do is keep a few things in mind. First, on paper, Madison is just as innocent and as much of a model citizen as Damon appears to be. There's no reason to assume she's the bad guy in any of this.” He looked directly at Hamilton when he said that.

Hamilton gave him a reluctant nod. “Agreed.”

“Second, if you turn this around and assume Madison is right—that it really is Damon behind everything that's been happening since she came to Savannah—then he has some kind of motive you haven't discovered yet. There's more to this than you're seeing, than we're seeing. Think about the inconsistencies. There aren't any pictures of Damon. How do you know the man you researched is really Damon without having photographs?”

“I'm still working on that,” Tessa said.

“You mentioned he had health problems.” Pierce said.

“Damon had several medical problems. Nothing too serious, but one of the articles done about him in his hometown paper said he saw doctors regularly and took meds.”

“Madison never mentioned that.”

Tessa frowned. “She didn't?”

“No. Did you find his medical records in New York?”

“Not yet. I don't have anything worthy of a search warrant, so I may not even be able to get anyone to admit they
were
his doctor.”

“Can I get a copy of that folder?” Hamilton asked.

“Absolutely.”

“This isn't getting us anywhere closer to finding Madison,” Pierce said. “Are you sure you followed up all the leads at the motel? Someone had to see Madison's car leave the parking lot. What direction did it go?”

“I'm drawing a blank there. I can't find a single person who saw the car leave, which seems bizarre since it's such an eye-catching color.”

“And yet, you have several witnesses who saw the car arrive, and it was caught arriving on camera—conveniently showing the license plate as well,” this from Matt.

Tessa looked up at him, her eyes half-closed as if she were only tolerating his presence because she had to. “I admit it seems like someone wanted witnesses to think Madison was at that motel.”

“Right,” Pierce interrupted. “But when the car left the motel, it left in some obscure way—perhaps down a back alley, to avoid witnesses and cameras.”

“A set-up,” Matt said.

“Seems that way to me. Madison has been with me for several days. She's had no opportunity to be alone, to arrange some clandestine meeting with some man in a motel. And she's not exactly the type to sneak around. If she wants to do something, she does it.”

“Now, that I'll agree with,” Hamilton said. “I've seen no signs of meek and mild in Mrs. McKinley.”

Pierce raised a brow. “You're on my side now?”

“I've never
not
been on your side. I just want the truth.”

“So what's the next step?” Tessa asked. “We're out of leads.”

The front door slammed and everyone glanced up.

Logan Richards stood in the entryway, his usual crisp, polished appearance only a distant memory. He needed a shave as badly as Pierce did, and his suit was rumpled, as if he'd slept in it. He saw Pierce and strode toward him.

Pierce rose to greet him, but his words died on his lips when he saw the anger flashing in Logan's eyes.

“I asked you to check on my sister.” Logan's deep voice boomed through the room. “And now she's missing.” He shoved Pierce, forcing Pierce to take a step back. “What the hell are you doing to find her?”

“Now wait just a minute.” Matt tried to shove his way between them.

Logan knocked him flat on the couch without even looking at him.

“Don't,” Pierce said to Matt, when he jumped up with his fists curled in front of him. “Logan has every right to be angry. I should have protected Madison. It's my fault she's missing.”

“Damn right it is,” Logan said.

Matt ignored Pierce's warning and pushed between them again. “Arguing isn't going to help us find her any faster.”

Pierce froze and blinked in disbelief as he stared past Logan. Logan turned and they both stood in stunned amazement to see who was standing in the open doorway.

Madison.

 

Chapter Eighteen

“I
TOLD YOU.
I
'M
fine. Please stop fussing over me.” Madison pulled her arm back from the EMT and rubbed where he'd just drawn blood.

Pierce sat on the couch across from her, unable to look at her. He was too afraid she'd see the doubt in his gaze. Instead, he focused on everyone else in the room while he tried to make sense of the story she'd just finished telling them about her abduction.

Her
alleged
abduction.

“We have to make sure you're okay.” Logan put his arm around her shoulders.

“By poking me with needles? Gee, thanks.”

Pierce looked down as she looked across the coffee table that separated them. She'd been abducted, by someone no one else saw. And she'd supposedly awakened this morning sitting in her car a few miles away. With the keys in the ignition. She'd simply started the engine and drove home.

It was perhaps the strangest story he'd ever heard. And he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He desperately wanted to believe her. But nothing she was saying made sense. Why would someone abduct her and not hurt her, not make any demands, and not make a ransom request, then just let her go?

“You didn't want to go to the hospital,” Logan said, matter-of-factly. “And we have to be sure you don't have any drugs still in your system to worry about.”

The EMT capped the blood vial and handed it to Lieutenant Hamilton, who in turn put it into a plastic bag and handed it to a uniformed police officer.

“The cloth he used smelled sweet,” Madison said.

The EMT glanced at her. “Chloroform probably. It has a sweet smell. Do you need me for anything else, Lieutenant?”

“No, thanks for coming.”

The EMT nodded and headed toward the front door with the policeman who had the vial of blood.

“You said he shoved a note under your door.” Hamilton said.

“Yes.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “It said, ‘Your punishment is about to begin.' ”

“But you don't have the note. Or any of the pictures you said you saw.”

Her face reddened slightly. “I wasn't exactly in a position to grab them and take them with me since I was drugged and knocked out again.”

He didn't respond to her sarcasm. “You're sure you can't describe anything about your abductor? Hair color, eye color, height?”

“I only saw him once, when he opened the trunk of the car. But it was only for a split second, before he put the cloth over my face again. The sun was behind him. I didn't see any details. But . . .”

“Go on,” Logan encouraged. “What else?”

“My gut tells me it was Damon. Maybe that famous gut of yours runs in the family.”

Pierce heard the smile in her voice.

“Am I missing something here?” Hamilton asked. He turned to Pierce. “Do you know what they're talking about?”

He shrugged. He knew what Madison was talking about. Logan's gut was famous, among the men he worked with anyway. Following his instincts had solved many cases others had given up on, and had saved lives, including his wife Amanda's.

“Why won't you look at me, Pierce?” Madison's voice was soft and shaky. “Why won't you say anything?”

He lifted his gaze to hers, then quickly looked away. Logan glared at him and pulled Madison close to his side.

“Don't worry about him,” Logan said, anger clear in his voice. “What else do you remember?”

“Not much. Just . . . the pictures. That horrible room.”

While Madison talked about the photos again, Pierce listened intently, alert to the inflections in each word. She didn't sound like she was hiding anything, but she'd been supposedly held against her will for more than thirty hours. And there wasn't a mark on her. Not a bruise, not a scratch. Nothing to suggest she'd just been through a harrowing experience.

She'd said her hands and feet were bound with cloth, thus no ligature marks.

Convenient.

He didn't want to doubt her, but from the moment she'd walked through the door, as if nothing had happened, the doubts had slammed into him so hard they'd stolen his breath.

“How sure are you that the man who took you was your former husband?” Hamilton asked, from the chair on the other side of Logan.

Pierce raised his gaze to watch her when she answered. She was staring directly at him as she spoke. “If I had to swear to it, I couldn't. But I feel very strongly that it was Damon McKinley who drugged me and locked me in that room.”

“Did he take you to a motel outside of town?” Pierce asked, unable to keep silent anymore with his doubts.

She seemed relieved that he was talking to her now, but then her blue eyes clouded with confusion. “Motel? You think the room I was in was in a motel? What kind of motel has bars on the window, and no furniture?”

“Before that,” he said. “When you first left the house. You went to a motel.”

She shook her head, her brow wrinkling. “What are you talking about? I was in my kitchen. Someone grabbed me from behind, held a cloth over my face. When I woke up, I was in the trunk of a car, tied up. He put the cloth on my face again, and the next time I woke up in that room.”

“And then you woke up in your car. Right. During all of that, you never clearly saw the man you were with and he never spoke?”

“I wasn't
with
him.” She spoke very slowly and clearly as if she thought he'd suddenly developed a problem with his hearing. “He grabbed me. I didn't go willingly.”

“No bruises. No scratches.”

Her mouth fell open. “You think I
wanted
to go with him? That I'm making all of this up?”

“Mrs. McKinley,” Hamilton spoke up. “We have photos of you, or a woman matching your description, and your car, at a motel with some man. We're just trying to put all the known facts together and figure out what happened.”

She frowned and rubbed the side of her head as if she was developing a headache. “I don't understand any of this. I was never at a motel.”

“Why did he let you go?” Pierce asked.

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “I. Don't. Know.” Her eyes widened as if she'd just thought of something. She grabbed Logan's arm. “Mom, Amanda—he had pictures of them. That has to be some kind of a threat. You need to—”

He patted her hand. “Already done. Special Agent Tessa James made the necessary phone calls as soon as you told us about the photographs. They're safe.”

She nodded with relief and relaxed against him.

“If Damon was your abductor,” Pierce continued, “wouldn't he have asked for money?”

She crossed her arms. “I don't know what game Damon is playing. I can't speak for what he should, or shouldn't, have done.”

“If he hadn't faked his death, he would have had plenty of money,” Pierce said. “Especially after your father died. Why would he fake his death?”

“I don't know. Why don't you go find Damon and ask
him
instead of grilling me?”

Logan kissed the top of his sister's head and stood. He looked directly at Pierce. “Basement. Now.” His voice was deathly quiet. He headed toward the back hall to the basement entrance, not bothering to turn and see if Pierce would follow.

P
IERCE CLOSED THE
door behind him and headed down the basement stairs. When he reached the concrete floor, he didn't even have time to duck.

Logan slammed his fist into his jaw. “That's for not protecting my sister.”

Pierce stumbled back a few steps, his jaw throbbing.

Logan stepped forward and slammed his fist into Pierce's stomach, doubling him over. “And that's for being an ass. What the hell were you doing upstairs, treating her like a criminal?”

Pierce gritted his teeth and lunged forward, slamming his fist into the side of Logan's thick skull. Logan spun around, staggered, but kept his feet underneath him. “That,” Pierce growled, “is for playing matchmaker and interfering with my life.”

He ran forward and punched Logan again, slamming him up against the wall. Logan let out a vicious stream of curses and threw himself at Pierce. He wrapped his arms around Pierce's chest in a crushing grip, and they both went crashing to the floor.

Sharp, fiery pain shot through Pierce's chest. He gasped and twisted in Logan's hold, breaking away from him and throwing an uppercut to his jaw.

Logan's head snapped back, and Pierce smacked him in the side of his head with his elbow. They both grappled for control, falling to the floor, rolling and twisting as they fought to get in more punches. They knocked over a lamp, its light bulb exploding into a hundred jagged pieces that tinkled across the concrete.

They broke apart and staggered to their feet. Pierce blocked one of Logan's punches and took one of his own, spinning Logan around. Logan pushed off the wall and slammed his fist into Pierce's bruised ribs.

The pain was immediate, intense. Hot fire slashing through his chest. He doubled over, turning his injured side away as Logan rushed him.

Pierce grunted as he slammed against the wall.

Suddenly Logan let go, straightening and staggering back several feet. His chest heaved as he gulped deep breaths of air. “You've gone soft. That was way too easy.”

Pierce threw a few choice curses at his friend. “I did pretty good considering I got shot a couple of days ago. I'd have had you on the ground again if you hadn't sucker punched me in my bruised ribs.”

Logan raised a brow. “That's explains the bleeding.”

“Ah, hell.” Pierce looked down at his shirt in disgust. Blood was soaking through and spreading toward his pants. “That was my best shirt.”

Logan stepped over to the dryer snugged up beneath the stairs and grabbed a small towel folded on top. He tossed it to Pierce.

He caught it, nodding his thanks as he pressed it against his stitches and slid to the floor. He leaned his head against the wall, taking in slow deep breaths as the fire in his ribs began to fade. “Just give me a minute. Then I'll get back up and whip your ass.”

“Not in this lifetime.” Logan chuckled and slid down to sit beside him. He waggled his jaw back and forth, running his fingers along a bruise that was already starting to form. “What's going on around here? You were supposed to take care of my sister, and here you are her worst enemy, basically accusing her of making everything up.”

“Hell if I know. Maybe I've been talking to Lieutenant Hamilton too long. Nothing adds up.”

“That's because you're looking at everything the wrong way. There are always patterns. But you have to have an open mind to see them.”

“I'm trying.”

“Try harder.”

Pierce blew out a long breath.

“Tell me what happened,” Logan said. “From the beginning. Don't leave anything out.”

Pierce related the details of the shooting, the notes, the phone call. He told Logan about the missing yardman, the vandalism in the backyard. He even told him what Madison had said about the divorce coming through after Damon's death. He ended with Tessa's rendition about what happened at the motel. He pulled the towel away from his ribs. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, so he tossed the towel on the floor.

“So, she divorced the bastard, huh.”

“Bastard? You knew what a jerk he was, and you didn't do anything about it?”

“Not much I could do except make sure Madison knew she had someone to turn to if she'd ever admit she'd made a mistake.”

“Tessa painted Damon out to be some kind of saint.”

Logan snorted. “On paper, sure. But in person, there was always something slimy about him.” He rolled his head on his shoulders and looked at Pierce. “I thought you cared about her?”

He stiffened. “My feelings for your sister are irrelevant.”

“They're relevant to me. I want to know your intentions where she's concerned.”

“My intentions?” he asked, incredulously. “My intentions are to keep her out of jail, to straighten out this mess, to find the truth.”

Logan waved his hand in the air, much as Madison tended to do. “I'm talking about personal stuff here. Do you still care about her or not? Because the way you were acting upstairs, I have to say it doesn't seem like you care one damn bit.”

“I took a bullet for her. That's all the answer you need.”

Logan sat silently for several minutes. “I need to know she has an ally on her side when I leave.”

“Leave? You just got here.”

“Yes, but I can help her more by going back to New York, maybe even to Montana where you FBI guys traced Damon's roots. Unlike you, I've never doubted my sister. If she says Damon abducted her, then Damon abducted her. The only way to clear up this mess is to figure out why he faked his death, see what game he's playing. To figure that out, I need facts, more puzzle pieces.”

“You and your puzzles.”

Logan shrugged. “That's my talent, figuring things out. You're more the bull in a china shop kind of guy. If I can trust you to look after her, then I can focus on my own strengths.”

He raised a brow. “I thought you said I was treating her like an ass.”

“You were. That's why I reminded you of your manners.” He climbed to his feet and offered Pierce a hand.

Pierce took it, grimacing when his ribs squeaked in protest.

“You have to protect her, keep her safe,” Logan said.

“She owns more guns than I do. I doubt she'd like the way you're portraying her like she needs me.”

“She does, you know . . .”

“Does what?”

“Need you.” Logan headed toward the stairs. He stopped on the third step. “Only God knows why, but she seems to care about you.” He headed up the stairs, then slammed the door behind him.