Deadly Impulse

by Carolyn Arnold

  “I can’t believe Terry’s gonna be a dad,” Madison said as she walked with Cynthia through the station’s hallways.

  “You’ve had nine months to prepare.”

  “I guess, but a lot has happened in that time.”

  Cynthia looked over at her. “You can say that again.” There were a few seconds of silence before Cynthia continued. “How are you, by the way?”

  “Me? I’m fine.”

  There was that blasted word again.

  “You realize that’s how you respond when anyone asks that question… For most people, the default is good or great. And for those who are sickly happy, it’s awesome or super.”

  Madison recognized Cynthia’s efforts to bury her psychobabble beneath humor. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “And what’s that?” She flashed a guilty grin.

  “You are attempting to lighten what you’re actually saying. You think I’m damaged.”

  A full-fledged smile spread across her face. “Well, that’s obvious.”

  “Hey!”

  “Knight.”

  Crap. Sergeant Winston. And based on the volume and the sound of his steps, he wasn’t far behind them.

  “Oh God.” The expression left her lips without thought.

  “You know I can hear you? I’m right here,” he added.

  Madison stopped walking, and so did Cynthia.

  “What is it, Sarge?” Madison asked.

  “What is it always, Knight? What is the latest with the old lady case?”

  Moments like this reconfirmed why they bashed heads so much. Winston’s underlying discrimination against women was bad enough. But to refer to the investigation as “the old lady case,” that was the intolerable line.

  “Her name was Faye Duncan. She was sixty-eight. But let’s say I worry about the case and you worry about your desk? The last time I looked, you had a lot of paperwork.”

  “Why I never.” Winston straightened his back, his belly pushing out farther. “You realize that I am your boss, right? That comments like that can get you suspended. Utter disrespect, Knight.”

  Cynthia’s face registered sheer terror. Madison pulled out her car keys and handed them to her. “I’ll meet up with you in a second.”

  There was a thank-you enclosed in Cynthia’s eyes.

  Madison aligned her gaze with Winston’s. “Whoever let Miss Duncan die and moved her body was close to her.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  She wasn’t dignifying his question with an answer. If she weren’t certain, she wouldn’t have said it. “There are no key suspects at this time.”

  “Sounds like you’re off to a fast start with this one.”

  It was a dig. He knew how she felt about every case, how they became personal, tattooed into her flesh, as it were, and embedded in her heart. Her desire with every case that involved death was to wrap it up quickly, bring the responsible party to justice, and obtain closure for the family.

  There was no winning in her current situation, though. If she shot her mouth off again, Winston wouldn’t tolerate it, and Madison couldn’t stay around him much longer without risking just that. She turned to leave.

  “I assume you would have come to me with these updates?”

  Updates? All I have is the victim’s name.

  “You can assume that.” She kept her back to him. A pulse tapped beneath her skin from his earlier mention that she wasn’t making quick progress with the investigation. It was one thing to be aware of it and another to have it pointed out.

  As the station’s doors closed behind her, she wished it meant the job was being left behind, too. But she knew herself better than that. She’d go to the hospital for Terry, Annabelle, and their son. She’d smile and share in their celebration. Yet, in the back of her mind, she’d be working the case.

  MADISON ANGLED THE STUFFED BEAR Cynthia had insisted she buy. “Are you sure this was necessary?”

  “Yes.” Cynthia held a floral arrangement in a vase.

  They had stopped at a store on the way to the hospital only when Cynthia had become adamant that they couldn’t show up empty-handed. The nurse who had directed them to the Grants’ room told them the baby hadn’t arrived yet and that they were to keep their visit brief.

  Madison’s heart was beating fast. Until now, she hadn’t thought about how Terry’s becoming a father might change their relationship. It seemed like a silly thing for her to start thinking about, but it had to change the dynamics of their partnership.

  Terry had always been one to put his family first, even when it was Annabelle and their two beagles, Todd and Bailey. His dogs were like his children. He worked hard but always knew when to stop for the day. He succeeded in severing the tie between business and personal, something Madison wasn’t sure she’d ever figure out. Heck, she was even involved with a colleague from work. Talk about a direct link between both worlds.

  “Here we are. Are you ready to go in?” Cynthia bobbed her head toward the door numbered 311.

  “Of course.”

  Annabelle’s bed was at an angle so she was somewhere between lying down and sitting. Her cheeks were tear-streaked and blotchy. Terry got up from where he was sitting at the end of the bed.

  “Hey guys,” he said.

  “I got you this.” Madison held up the bear, fending off the inevitable vulnerability that came with such personal moments. She smiled at him, and then her eyes drifted to Annabelle.

  Terry took the bear from her. “Wow, thanks, Maddy, but I stopped playing with stuffed toys when I was about five.”

  Madison laughed to ease her discomfort. Even though she had experience around babies—Chelsea had three children—it never got easier for her.

  Terry playfully slanted the bear side to side, but there was stress in his eyes.

  Cynthia was now next to Annabelle asking how she was doing. Annabelle was nodding her head and rubbing her stomach in response.

  Madison almost said the meaningless words, So no little guy yet? Small talk was a sure sign as to how uncomfortable she was feeling.

  “Her contractions have slowed down a lot,” Terry said.

  Not that Madison was an expert on birth, but she knew that wasn’t a good thing. She went to Annabelle, took her hand, and squeezed it. She wished she knew what to say at that moment, but any offering she could think of seemed blasé and unfounded. She couldn’t promise a healthy baby. She couldn’t know that everything would be okay. The truth was, she had no idea whether it would be or not. One fact remained: They would need to wait to find out.

  Annabelle wiped the corner of her eyes. Disappointment and heartbreak were etched in her irises. “I just want this little guy out of me.”

  Terry rushed to Annabelle’s side. “Daniel’s coming, baby.”

  Daniel? Madison finally knew the name. Terry just kept saying he was having a son.

  Annabelle smiled at Madison. “He’s so certain it’s a boy.”

  “Because it is.” He caressed his wife’s forehead, smoothing her hair back.

  The tenderness Madison witnessed at that moment had her seeing Terry the husband, not her partner. Madison glanced at Cynthia, who had this doe-eyed look of wonderment on her face. Leave it to a former party girl turned fiancée to get mushy over the love shown between a husband and wife. This was exactly why Madison’s inclination was to run far away from any relationship that threatened to take her independence. To become that attached to another living being was just asking for something bad to happen.

  A doctor in a white coat came into the room, flipping pages on a chart he held. “Mr. and Mrs. Grant.” He paused to smile politely at Terry and Annabelle. He acknowledged Madison and Cynthia but gave an indication with his eye contact that they best leave the room.

  “They can stay,” Annabelle said. She
must have seen the doctor’s look.

  “Very well. The baby’s head hasn’t dropped yet. I suggest you go home, get some rest—”

  “Go home?” Annabelle struggled to straighten up, but Terry coaxed her to stay still.

  “Yes. Trust me, Mrs. Grant. I’ve been doing this a long time. Your baby isn’t coming tonight. But it won’t be long.”

  “Won’t be long? That’s easy for you to say.”

  Terry put a hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Terry, how can you be okay with this? I want Daniel out now!” Annabelle cried out.

  The doctor left as smoothly as he had arrived.

  “What are you smiling about?” Annabelle asked Terry. She was scowling.

  “That’s the first time you called him Daniel.”

  Her expression softened, and Terry leaned over his wife and tapped a kiss to her brow. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Madison was trying to catch Cynthia’s eye. It was time to go. But Cynthia’s gaze was glazed over. What was going on in Madison’s world? She needed a drink.

  “Cyn?” Madison said. It seemed like an effort for her friend to wrest her eyes from Terry and Annabelle. “Why don’t we head out?”

  Terry straightened, and both he and Annabelle looked at her. “Thank you for coming, Maddy,” he said. “And Cynthia.”

  “Of course.” Madison smiled, then nibbled on her lip. She knew that look on his face. It was written in his eyes. He realized how hard it was for her to let down her walls and open up to the emotional side of life.

  In the hallway, Cynthia put her arm around Madison’s waist. “Drinks? They’re on me.”

  “I love the way your brain works.”

  -

  Chapter 21

  MADISON AND CYNTHIA HEADED TO one of their favorite drinking spots—Cracker Jack. It was a popular watering hole near downtown that had good music and dim lighting. They catered to the crowd who liked to get out to a bar without the clubbing scene—also known as thirtysomethings and up. Not that Madison had ever favored nightclubs. The thought of strangers bumping up against her, strange men taking liberties with their hands while “dancing”… None of it appealed to her.

  They walked through the bar and sat down in a booth. Cynthia immediately grabbed the drink menu. Madison didn’t need to look. She’d stick with red wine.

  “That was pretty intense,” Cynthia said from behind her menu.

  That was one way of putting it. All the built-up energy to welcome Terry and Annabelle’s baby into the world, only to have it crash down around them with disappointment.

  “I’m never having children,” Madison said.

  Cynthia peered over her menu at her. “Like that’s a surprise. But you know what they say. Never say—”

  “Don’t even finish that one. In my case—in this case—it’s the truth. I don’t get babies.”

  Cynthia shook with laughter. “You don’t get babies? What is there to get? Besides, don’t you have three nieces? You know how to handle children.”

  “Oh no, there’s a big difference between being an aunt and being a moth—”

  “Maddy? I thought that was you.” Troy was standing by the table and shuffled Madison over so he could sit beside her.

  Her cheeks heated. God, she hoped he hadn’t heard what she and Cynthia had been discussing. The topic of children was a conversation she didn’t want to have, period, let alone have overheard by Troy.

  Madison turned toward him, and he flung an arm around her. “What are you do—”

  “Excuse us, Cynthia,” Troy said.

  Cynthia smirked. “Sure. No problem.”

  Madison looked from her friend to Troy. “No problem? What are you—”

  Then his mouth was pressed to hers. She wanted to protest and push him away, but she didn’t have the resolve or the fortitude. God, he was all-encompassing. The way he took her, the hunger, the possession. But her friend was across the table… Madison put her hands on his chest and tore her lips from his.

  “You can’t tell me you didn’t like that.” His green eyes were piercing through Madison’s brown ones. Held captive by his gaze, it seemed there was no one else around them, and her heart was racing. Damn him.

  She managed to extricate herself from his stare to look at Cynthia, who was grinning as if she had lost her mind. Madison fired her a glare.

  “Don’t let me interrupt your evening.” Troy took his arm back, establishing eye contact with Madison again as he slid out of the booth.

  “You don’t have to leave,” Cynthia said.

  “Well, I’m here with some of the guys from the station.” He jacked his thumb toward the four men at the bar. Madison recognized them from his SWAT unit. How she and Cynthia had missed them when they came in, Madison didn’t know. “See you tomorrow night, Maddy.”

  And with that, he was gone, off to the other corner of the room, where he stood next to one of his beefed-up colleagues. She found herself wondering what they talked about in their free time. How many bench presses they could each do? The best meal replacements and protein drinks?

  Troy didn’t give her another glance after he’d reached his friends. God, that man was irresistible. He respected her independence but fed her carnal hunger. He was the only man who she allowed to tell her how things were, too. There was usually no question to his statements. They were conclusions based on a confidence that would cross over to cockiness in anyone else. He had some secret trick that tempered what he said to make her want to comply, and she liked it.

  Wow. Cynthia mouthed the word and dropped the menu to the table.

  “Don’t say a thing.”

  “The guy comes over here and kisses you like that and I’m not allowed to say anything? Yeah, right.”

  Where was a waitress in this bar? Maybe something a little harder than wine would fit the spot. As if sensing Madison’s silent pleading, Stacey, a bottle-blond waitress with the stature of Betty Boop, came over for their orders.

  “What will you ladies have tonight?”

  “I’m looking for something to hit me hard but that goes down smooth,” Madison said, and she caught Cynthia’s eye. After what had just happened with Troy, red wine wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

  “You’re thinking a shot?” Stacey’s pen was poised over her notepad.

  “Yeah.”

  “A shot?” Cynthia repeated Stacey’s question.

  “Yes.” Madison remained adamant. It was rare for her to drink shots, but sometimes a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

  “All right. Sweet or sour?” Stacey asked.

  “No tequila, if that’s what’s your asking.”

  Stacey smiled. “Sweet, then?”

  “Sure.”

  Stacey turned to Cynthia. “Two of those?”

  “Okay,” Cynthia said.

  “Two of what exactly?” Madison asked.

  “Do you trust me?” Stacey let her eyes go back and forth between the two of them and then rested on Madison.

  “Fine, why not?”

  “Excellent. I’ll be right back.”

  “Actually, Stacey, why don’t you make it four? Two each,” Cynthia said.

  Stacey pointed her pen at Cynthia. “I love the way you think. And the way you drink. Give me two minutes.”

  “What is up with you?” Cynthia asked.

  “Me? You’re the one who just ordered us two drinks each when we have no idea what they are.”

  “Sometimes you have to live on the edge.”

  Wasn’t she already doing that by being involved with Troy Matthews? She looked back at him, and one of the guys from the team was slapping him on the back. The four of them erupted in laughter. Probably over something only they would find amusing.

 
“Earth to Madison,” Cynthia said.

  Busted.

  Madison turned to face Cynthia. “I’m going to have to end things.”

  “Excuse me? Are you crazy? The guy’s hot, and he’s crazy about you. Plus, he gives you space. Although just a few minutes ago…”

  “Don’t even start.”

  Cynthia giggled. “It’s good to see you finally involved with someone as complicated as you are.”

  “I’m complicated?”

  “That really isn’t a question, is it? You have a wall around you, Maddy. It’s starting to come down, but part of it still stands strong.”

  Where were their drinks?

  “I know you’ve been through a lot,” her friend went on, “and have been hurt by love before.”

  “You make me sound so pathetic.”

  “You are not pathetic. You are wary and on guard. Troy’s got his own history and baggage to deal with, too.”

  She had told Cynthia the reason for Troy’s divorce back when she’d first learned about it herself. Madison didn’t care for having it tossed in her face. “So we were both cheated on.”

  “That’s the simple version, yes. But who you both are today is a result of that. You both like your independence as much as you want to be close to each other. It’s like a little dance.”

  “As long as you’re entertained.”

  “Oh, I am.” Cynthia nodded toward Stacey approaching with a tray holding four shot glasses.

  Stacey placed two in front of each of them. Madison lifted a glass and studied its contents. Different liquors were present—three different colors—and they didn’t blend. It resembled a nuclear cloud. It didn’t exactly look tasty.

  “What is this?” Madison held the drink in front of Stacey. Part of her debated whether to send the drinks back.

  “It’s called a brain hemorrhage.” Stacey smiled.

  Madison made a funny face. “Sounds pleasant.”

  “That explains its appearance. Cool.” Cynthia sniffed hers.

  “I know, eh? Very cool. And they are very yummy. Enjoy,” Stacey said.

  Before Madison could ask what was in it, Stacey was off to another table.