Simon Says Die (7 page)

He made a choking sound and broke the kiss, grabbing her roving hands. He took a deep, shaky breath as he forced her back. “Stop,” he rasped.

She frowned and stepped closer, tugging her hands out of his grasp. “Why?”

He drew another deep breath. “For one thing, we're on a public sidewalk.”

Her eyes widened as she looked around at the small audience they'd gained—an elderly couple shaking their heads as they walked by, two teenaged boys grinning and whispering a few feet away, making no attempt to hide their interest.

She shrugged. The delicious heat he'd awakened still curled through her. She'd missed this. She'd missed
him
. She ran her fingers down the front of his shirt. “Then let's go to my house where we can be alone.”

He grabbed her hands and firmly removed them from his chest. “What about your
husband?
If your stalker is who you think he is, you're still married.”

She twisted her fingers beneath his until she was holding his hands. “We're not married. I divorced Damon.”

He stilled. “What did you say?”

She pulled a hand free and reached up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “There's no reason we can't enjoy each other for a couple of hours, like old times.”

He grabbed her hand again. “That's not going to happen. Play your games with someone else. I'm not getting back on that merry-go-round.” He pulled her toward his car and yanked the passenger door open. “Get in.”

She plopped down on the seat, blinking against the unexpected moisture in her eyes at his merry-go-round comment. She'd definitely met her goal of making sure he didn't try to stop her when she broke up with him. Maybe she shouldn't have tried quite so hard.

He slammed her door shut and crossed around the front of the car to the driver's side. He got in, but instead of starting the engine, he grabbed her purse.

“Hey, what are you doing?” She tried to grab her purse back, but he held it out of her reach.

“I'm trying to keep you out of jail, but you're making it extremely difficult.” He took out her .357 Magnum and shook his head as he shoved the gun under his seat. “Are you hiding any more weapons I should know about?”

She glared at him. “Why don't you search me and find out?”

His jaw tightened as he tossed the purse in her lap. He turned the key, making the engine roar.

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

He slammed the gas pedal, throwing her back in her seat. “Neutral territory.”

M
ADISON STOPPED IN
front of the sign, “October 9, 1779. In Memory of Those Who Fought Here.” Beside her, Pierce stared across the expanse of brownish-green grass that spanned Battlefield Park.

“How is this neutral territory?” Madison asked.

“No cops.” Pierce glanced down at her. “No guns. Just you and me, on a battlefield. Seems appropriate. We're about to do battle. And we're not leaving until one of us wins.”

With that ominous statement, he grabbed her hand and hauled her to a bench that looked out over the grassy fort. She reluctantly sat beside him and tugged her hand out of his grasp. The man was far too bossy.

And far too appealing.

How could she want to hit him and kiss him at the same time?

He leaned back and propped his arm behind her. “We need to talk.”

When she didn't say anything, he sighed heavily and pulled his arm back, then twisted to face her. “Please.”

That one little word, spoken so softly, was her undoing. The man had taken a bullet for her. The least she could do was try to answer his questions, or at least, she'd answer what she could without revealing too much. That bitter taste was already coming back in her mouth because of the lies she knew she would have to tell.

“W
HY DID YOU
go to MacGuffin's?” Pierce asked. “The place wasn't even open.”

Madison's eyes widened, and Pierce saw a flash of panic cross her face. He could practically see the gears spinning in her mind, searching and sifting for that elusive answer, the lie she would tell to get him to leave her alone.

Tough. She could lie to him all day, and it wouldn't matter. He wasn't going to leave her alone until he got the truth.

“MacGuffin's,” he repeated.

She stared out over the battlefield. “Damon . . . mentioned the place a few times. I thought someone there might remember him, that maybe they'd spoken to him and might know where he's staying.”

“You thought the man that you think is trying to kill you might hang around that place, so it was a good idea to go there?”

She winced. “When you put it that way, it doesn't sound like a very good idea. But I always keep a gun with me.” She frowned at him. “Or at least, I did.”

He wanted to shake some sense into her. Thank goodness Casey had sent an agent to keep an eye on her. The agent had later told Pierce he spoke to her right outside the FBI building, that she had claimed to have a headache and seemed upset. Right now, Pierce was the one with a headache.

And its name was Madison.

He had to concentrate to keep his voice even, and his exasperation from showing on his face. He needed information, and getting Madison's hackles up wouldn't get him anywhere.

“And did they?” he asked. “Did anyone at MacGuffin's remember Damon?”

“No. And before you ask, no one remembered him anywhere else I went either. I got nowhere today.” She waved her hand in the air. “Honestly, I don't see how you detective-types figure out who the bad guys are, or where the bad guys are, with so little to go on.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe tomorrow I'll check out the museums. Damon was always big on art. If he's in Savannah, he couldn't resist going to the museums. Someone has to remember him.”

She wasn't going anywhere without him, but he'd straighten her out about that later. He watched her closely as he asked his next question. “I need you to answer me truthfully, Mads. Did Damon ever hit you?”

 

Chapter Seven

M
ADISON'S FACE TURNED
bright red, and she looked genuinely outraged. “Do you really think I would have stuck around if Damon had ever hit me?”

“It happens. Even strong women can feel trapped in those situations, unsure what to do. Leaving isn't always as easy as you'd think it should be.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Well, regardless, he never hit me.”

He waited for her to shove her hair back behind her ears. That was her “tell,” like a neon sign letting him know she probably wasn't telling the truth. It wasn't an infallible test, but judging by the look on her face, he was confident she wasn't lying now. Damon hadn't abused her. Relief swept through him.

“Then what was so horrible about your marriage?”

“What makes you think it was horrible?”

“You think he's trying to kill you. Is that your idea of a
good
marriage?”

She wrapped her arms around her middle. “It wasn't always that way,” she said, her voice quiet and small. “When I met him, he was charming. He doted on me, and I was crazy about him. My brother tried to warn me things were going too fast, that I didn't know enough about Damon. Actually, no one in my family liked him very much. But I didn't want to listen. We were married two months after we met.”

Two months, about the same amount of time
he'd
known her when she'd ended their relationship. He hoped that thought hadn't figured into her reasons for leaving him. Being compared to Damon didn't sit well with him one bit.

“Go on,” he said. “What happened to make it all go wrong?”

She smoothed her jacket and drew little circles on her jeans with her fingernail. “The first five or six months were wonderful. After that, I guess the strain of lying all the time was too much for him. That's when I saw the real Damon.”

“What do you mean?”

“It started when I saw him with another woman in a restaurant. He didn't know I was driving by, never saw me.”

“He was having an affair?” Pierce asked.

“I thought so, but I couldn't see how that was possible. We were happy, or so I'd thought. I didn't want to confront him and feel stupid if she was just a business associate. But after that, I started watching for signs, hoping I was wrong.”

She sighed. “I couldn't let it go. It kept eating at me. We argued. I accused him of cheating. He was so surprised he started laughing. He was genuinely amused that I thought he was having an affair. And relieved.”

“Relieved?”

She nodded. “It was . . . odd. I knew he was hiding something, but he'd rather me think he was having an affair than tell me what he was really up to. That's when I started following him.”

“You followed him?”

“Oh, come on. Don't look at me like that. I didn't think he was dangerous. I just knew my marriage was falling apart, and I wanted to know why. We didn't get along. We argued all the time. Then I discovered some hidden files on his computer.”

Pierce put his finger beneath her chin, tilting her head up so that he could look her in the eyes. “What was in the files?”

She stared at him a moment, then pushed his hand away and stared out across the field. “He lied about his finances. I found spreadsheets detailing private accounts I knew nothing about, and purchases. He was spending tens of thousands of dollars a month.”

Pierce grimaced. “You were broke.”

“No, not at all. That's the weird thing. We had too much money, way more than we should have had, the way he was spending money. I confronted him, demanded to know where all the money was coming from. When he found out I'd logged onto his computer and looked at his files . . .”

She shivered and Pierce took her hand in his. She looked down at their joined hands, her brow wrinkling. But she didn't pull away.

“That's the first time I was ever afraid of him.” Her jaw tightened. “But not the last.”

The bleak sound of her voice told him far more than her words. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer to his next question. “What did he do?”

She vigorously shook her head, her dark hair brushing back and forth across her shoulders. “It doesn't matter. Our marriage was over. He grabbed his laptop and left. He disappeared for two weeks. No phone calls, no e-mails, nothing. That's when I filed for divorce.”

Her eyes had a slightly wild look to them, as if she would bolt if he pushed her any further. So he decided not to press her on that topic. For now.

“Did Logan or your mom know about the divorce?”

“No, no one did.”

“Why didn't you tell anyone?”

She swallowed and briefly closed her eyes. “At first, I was too embarrassed. I hated that my family was right about him. Later, when my dad's health got so bad . . .”

“Go on.”

She drew a deep breath. “Damon showed up again when my father was admitted to the hospital. He acted supportive and sweet in front of my family, as if nothing bad had happened between us. I played along, but I wouldn't let him back into the house. I'd changed the locks. And I was never alone with him, even though he asked me, several times, to speak in private.”

Her grip on his hand tightened.

“A few days later, my father was dead.” She was silent for a long time. Finally, she shrugged. “A week after that, Damon died in the car accident. I never thought about canceling the divorce proceedings. I'd totally forgotten that I'd even filed, until my lawyer contacted me. He said since Damon had been declared dead, obviously there was no point in finalizing the divorce. But . . .”

She tugged her hands away from his and shoved her hair back behind her ears.

Pierce steeled himself for whatever lie she was about to tell him.

“I guess I just wanted those papers to make it feel official, that it was really over. So I had the lawyer push it through.” She shrugged. “There wasn't any point in telling anyone after that.”

He didn't believe for one second that a judge would waste his time processing a divorce when one of the parties in the divorce had been declared dead. He made a mental note to press her about the divorce later. He frowned as a new thought struck him. “Damon didn't know about the divorce?”

“No one does. Except you.”

“Then, if he's alive, he would assume if something happens to you, he'd inherit your money.”

She blinked at him in surprise.

“You never thought about that?” he asked.

“Well, sure, but I thought if he'd been declared dead, he'd have no claim to my estate.” She wrinkled her brow. “Even if that's not the case, I still don't see how he'd think he could get my money, not after faking his death. He obviously . . .” She swallowed. “He obviously killed someone, put his wallet, jewelry, clothes, on some other man and staged the accident. He'd be arrested for murder if he turned up to claim my estate, wouldn't he?”

In a perfect world, yes. But Pierce had seen far stranger things happen. Justice didn't always work the way it should.

“Faking your death isn't strictly illegal. There'd be questions, lots of questions. He'd have to come up with an incredibly plausible explanation for how another man died in his car, and why he didn't come forward at that time. But if there's no physical evidence, and he can explain his actions away somehow—he could still inherit. Can you think of any reason he'd want to pretend he was dead? Was there some reason he needed to disappear?”

Her eyes widened as she looked down at her feet.

Pierce sighed. Once again, she knew something, or at least suspected something, and wasn't telling him. “You can afford to live wherever you want. Why not just move back to New York until all of this blows over?”

Her head jerked up. “I just moved here. I'm in the middle of renovations. And I love this city. I don't want to leave.”

“Even if it means you could be killed?”

She waved her hand in the air. “I'd be just as much a target if I went back to New York. He found me here. He'd just find me again there.” She shook her head violently, her dark hair flying around her shoulders. “I will not let Damon control me or dictate where I live. And I'm not going to spend my life running away. This ends now, here, whatever it takes.”

The stubborn set of her shoulders told him arguing that point wasn't going to make a difference. Truth be told, he'd rather she stayed here anyway—because that way he could help her.

If she'd stop being stubborn long enough to realize she needed his help.

“How certain are you that the shooter was really Damon?”

Her shoulders visibly relaxed, as if she were relieved that he wasn't going to press her further about moving away. “As sure as I can be without getting a closer look at him, or seeing his face.” Her brow scrunched together as if she were concentrating, trying to remember the face of the man she'd seen. “I guess I could be mistaken. But I was so sure it was him.”

“Let's assume the shooter wasn't Damon. Is there anyone else who might have a reason to hate you?”

She shook her head, looking completely miserable. “Only you.”

His stomach lurched at the vulnerability on her face. He had to curl his hands around the bench to keep from reaching for her and pulling her into his arms.

“I don't hate you,” he said.

Her gaze searched his as if she were trying to see if he were telling the truth. He knew she wanted more . . . a touch, a look, some kind of reassurance. But that was more than he was willing to give.

She dropped her gaze to her lap.

He suddenly felt like a jerk for not giving in to the urge to hold her. Too late now. The moment was gone. “Someone tried to shoot you yesterday,” he reminded her. “Whether he's Damon or not remains to be seen. I think it's entirely likely the shooter won't strike again, that he's moved on to find another victim. But until we know for sure that you're safe, you need someone to watch your back. I propose a truce.”

“A truce?”

“An agreement. You stop trying to investigate on your own, and I promise I'll do everything in my power to figure out who the shooter is. I'll keep you safe.”

She seemed to consider that, and cocked her head to the side. “Why do you want to help me? After the way I ended things between us, I wouldn't expect you to care.”

“I didn't say I cared.” He immediately regretted his harsh words when her eyes widened and she turned away. What was it about her that brought out the worst in him? He let out a long sigh. “I made a promise to Logan to keep you safe. I always keep my promises. So, how about it? Truce?”

She chewed her bottom lip and stared off in the distance, over his shoulder. “Did you really mean what you said? That even if Damon is alive, he could get away with faking his death? He wouldn't go to prison? He'd get away with . . . murder?”

The way she'd said “murder” had him wondering if they were talking about the man who'd died in the car accident . . . or someone else. He watched her closely as he answered. “It's certainly a possibility. It all depends on the evidence. Is there something else you know about Damon that you aren't telling me? Something he did?”

She blinked and refocused on him. “Nothing I can prove.”

Before he could ask her what that meant, she waved her hand in the air. “Back to the truce. I'll accept your help, on one condition.”

Leave it to Madison to make it sound like she was doing him the favor when he'd already gotten shot protecting her, and was burning vacation days to help her. The woman was completely exasperating.

And even though he hated to admit it, completely adorable. That sass and fire was one of the main things he'd always liked about her. “What condition?”

“You can't tell Logan about this, any of it. I don't want him to suspect I'm in danger. And I especially don't want him to think Damon might be alive.”

“Why are you so worried about Logan knowing about Damon?”

“Because Logan would want to fix everything. And there are some things he just can't fix. I'll accept
your
help, but with that one condition. Take it or leave it.”

What “things” was she talking about? He wanted to shake her in frustration, but he knew that would get him nowhere. Sooner or later she was going to have to be honest with him. He just hoped it wasn't too late, that someone didn't get hurt—or worse—before she decided to tell him what she suspected Damon had done.

“All right, deal,” he said. “But I have a condition of my own. You're moving in with me. It's too dangerous to stay at your house while the stalker is still out there.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Where do you live?”

“Does it matter?”

A mischievous grin curved her lips. “Not as long as Tessa doesn't come with us.”

He didn't bother to respond to that ridiculous statement.

She stared at her shoes, deep in thought, as if carefully considering whether she could stand to live in the same house with him for the duration of their truce.

If it weren't for his promise to Logan, he might very well have gotten up right then and told her to forget it. He and Madison had shared themselves in every way two people could, and she was worried about him sleeping under the same roof?

“Okay, deal.” She suddenly held out her hand.

He hesitated, belatedly wondering what he might have just gotten himself into. But when a look of uncertainty crossed her face, he blew out a breath and shook her hand.

“First things first, give me that list you had earlier today when you went to MacGuffin's,” he said. “And tell me what you were really doing there.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn't figure you believed me about that.” She grabbed her purse and dug inside. She pulled out a small packet of papers and plopped them in his hand.