Oh shit! She had forgotten all about it.
“I can’t go. I’m in the middle of a case,” she said, satisfied with the plausible excuse.
“And you always will be. It’s time you got a life.”
“Excuse me?” She turned to him, ready to fight, but his smile washed away her rage. With his expression, she remembered the promises she had made to herself, which included opening up to people and doing more for herself than working all the time. “He wants me to wear a dress.” She heard the moan to her voice.
“Imagine that.” He had tucked his head down, his attention back on messaging Cynthia.
“I don’t wear dresses.”
“But you can.”
Leave it to Terry to bring up Christmas Eve and the small dinner party he’d held at his house. She had worn a dress that night.
“Let me rephrase this: I prefer not to wear dresses.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to because it makes someone else happy.”
He was exasperating, but he had a point. And she didn’t want to let down Troy. He might never kiss her again. She laughed at the thought. “Fine, I’ll go.”
He pointed at the dash: 5:00 PM.
How did it get to be that late? But it wasn’t the first time she’d gotten so absorbed in a case that time had passed without her noticing. This job was never going to be the standard nine-to-five, Monday to Friday.
She thought of Hershey. He might have to forego the walk she’d promised him today. Because Terry was right: whether she liked it or not she had to go tonight.
“First stop tomorrow, Angels Incorporated,” she said.
“You got it.”
“So I’ll see you there tonight?”
“Nope.”
She slammed the brakes at a yellow light.
“Please don’t break my neck.” He stretched his neck left, then right.
“Terry, if I’m going, you’re—”
“Nope. Not with Annabelle’s situation right now.”
“You could go alone.” Was she desperate enough to pull him from his nearly bursting pregnant wife?
He shook his head. “It’s not happening.”
“But I have to get all dressed up,” she sulked.
“Yep.” He tucked his phone into a pocket. “The message is off to Cynthia.”
Oh, Cynthia should be there, she realized. Madison might not end up facing Troy and this thing on her own, after all.
-
Chapter 30
THE FOUNDATION FOR FALLEN HEROES in the Line of Duty had gone all out for the affair. They had rented a banquet hall in a ritzy hotel, hiring everyone from decorators to caterers. Round tables, each one with seating for eight, were covered with white linens. Place settings consisted of crystal wineglasses, fine china, and silverware. Floral centerpieces with flameless candles were positioned in the middle of each table along with two bottles of wine—one red, one white. The latter was in an ice bucket.
Tables framed three sides of a dance floor, and on the fourth side, there was a podium with a microphone. Behind it was a banner displaying the Stiles PD logo alongside the one for the foundation.
Next to the makeshift stage was a live band playing some jazz standards, and the singer wasn’t doing a half-bad job of “If I Ruled the World.”
As Madison took in the grand room, she wondered how much money would actually make it to the cause. But with a thousand plates at two hundred dollars each—and with the silent auction still to be held—funds would add up quickly. The person who headed up the committee to arrange the event was definitely in a white-collar position. It wasn’t that cops didn’t appreciate the finer things in life, but most were happy with the basics—a BBQ steak and a beer. But as Troy had told her when he had extended her a ticket, “Sometimes you just have to get dressed up.”
She focused on that thought as she slipped into a dress. It was a simple piece—black, fitted, and came to just above her knees. She wore makeup, including eye shadow and mascara, and she even put on a pair of dangling diamond earrings. The fact that they had come from a previous boyfriend mattered little to her. They’d suit the event tonight. And if she was forced to doll herself up—sticking with the crooning-era terminology—that meant Troy would be wearing a suit, and with his body…
“I see you made it,” he whispered in her ear, having come up behind her.
She stayed there, letting his warm breath cascade along her neck. “Isn’t the first thing you’re supposed to say is how nice I look?” She turned to face him.
He pressed his lips together and bobbed his head side to side. “Actually, I had no intention of saying you look nice.”
Her jaw stiffened, as did her entire body.
He slipped a hand behind her neck, teasing her as if he were going to kiss her, but instead he brushed his fingers against an earring. “I was going to say you look absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you.” It took a lot to pry the two words from her throat. Her heart was beating so fast, she feared it might jump out of her chest. It didn’t help that his green eyes were peering into hers.
She really needed to get a grip. She had made so many exceptions for this man. He told her things; he didn’t make suggestions. He slid into a booth and kissed her in public. To top his presumptions off was the nickname he had for her—Bulldog. She detested the term of endearment. It had nothing to do with the breed’s looks; they were cute in an acquired-taste sort of way. But it made her sound like a dog with a bone. That he’d based the name on her tendency to obsess over a case to the point of it becoming all-consuming didn’t matter.
She stepped back from him, and he didn’t move with her. A waitress approached with a silver tray full of champagne-filled flutes. The woman smiled at them as they each took one.
“To tonight.” Troy clinked his glass to Madison’s.
Hers was to her lips when he added, “To you in a dress.”
Somehow, she succeeded in swallowing the amount she had sipped. “You just had to say that, didn’t you?”
The smile flashed in his eyes but didn’t show on his lips. “Guilty.”
“Detective Knight.” She looked toward the voice to find it was Leland King, the journalist from the Stiles Times, who had addressed her. He was in his early fifties with numerous awards to his credit, but he never let his success affect his modesty. And it had no bearing on his wardrobe. He was an average dresser, and by most counts, a man of average looks.
She looked around his general vicinity. “No date?”
“You should know me well enough by now, Detective. I fly solo.” His eyes drifted to Troy.
Madison made the introductions, and Troy held out his hand. King held the shake as if he were assessing Troy. Madison wasn’t sure why King would be analyzing him. It’s not as if the man should care who she dated. But when everything had happened between her and the Russians, King had taken her side and they had bonded.
The crowd clapped at the end of the song. After an instrumental introduction, the singer began to sing “I Can’t Believe That You’re in Love With Me.”
“If you’ll excuse us.” Troy took her glass and passed it off to King, who managed to hold their two flutes in one hand. He had his own in the other. Troy then took Madison’s arm and led her to the dance floor.
“What are you doing?” Madison asked.
“What does it look like? We’re going to dance.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Madison caught King’s eye and mouthed, Sorry. He just nodded at her.
She and Troy were swaying to the classic song before she had a chance to dispute the matter. First, she was in a dress and “gussied up,” as her grandmother would have said, and second, she was dancing with Troy for everyone to see.
A
s he led her around the floor, her eyes took in the room. She swore people were watching them but was happy that most weren’t paying them any attention. Then her eyes found Cynthia’s. There was no hiding the thousand-watt smile on her friend’s face. Madison shook her head.
Heat was blooming in Madison’s cheeks. She hated being put on the spot in any capacity other than an actual investigation. As they rotated, King lifted a glass to her and then pointed to a table next to him where he had set their glasses. She smiled her thanks, then dropped her head to Troy’s shoulder. He held her tighter.
Before Troy, it had been so long since she had felt secure in a man’s arms. Since Sovereign had broken her heart all those years ago, she had always been one foot out the door with the men she’d dated. She had taken the comfort of their embraces—at the time—but had never expected or anticipated any more. She had convinced herself she didn’t want—or need—any more than that. The truth was that she had been hurting inside.
But she had been able to release herself from the burden she carried over their failed relationship. It was liberating, though a part of her still refused to buy into the fairy tale of happily-ever-after. It was probably only a matter of time until Troy would see that he was too good for her. Then this, too, would end. It was inevitable, wasn’t it? She was a seven, and he was a ten. That meant one thing: when the relationship did end, he’d have initiated it.
She straightened up and let out a deep breath.
He lowered his face close to hers. “You smell nice, Bulldog.”
She gently slapped his chest, becoming even more aware of the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “Would you stop calling me that?”
“I thought I’d test it out again just to see if you’d changed your mind about the nickname.”
“I don’t know. Do you like Hotshot now?” She had assigned the nickname months ago on reflex. It alluded to his ability to acquire his target when under pressure. To Madison, it was more complimentary than Bulldog.
His response was swift as he shook his head. There was the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Not at all.”
“Well, then.” It was in the following lull of silence that she realized what he had done. He had pulled out Bulldog to put her at ease. God, the man was good.
She put her elbow on his shoulder, moving in tighter against him. She inhaled his cologne, a heady blend of birch and sandalwood. The fragrance was crisp.
Speaking of smelling good…
She closed her eyes to savor the scent, and when she opened them, McAlexandar was right in front of her.
-
Chapter 31
MADISON HOPED HER EYES WERE playing tricks on her. What was McAlexandar doing here? Of course, she already knew the answer. If there was an opportunity to make headlines, he always found his way into the spotlight. She should have known that he’d be here. As former police chief, his presence would seem appropriate to others, but she knew him better than most. He hadn’t dedicated his life to the brotherhood of blue. He stood in opposition to all that they represented. And there wasn’t much worse than a dirty cop, and of those, McAlexandar was king of the shit pile.
Troy must have sensed her stiffen. He slowed down, the two of them almost static on the dance floor. A few of their colleagues swirled around them.
“Are you okay?” he whispered in her ear.
Before she could respond, McAlexandar guided his wife closer to her and Troy. “Madison Knight.”
She clenched her teeth and forced a tight smile. Even now, he couldn’t address her by formal title. Not that it should surprise her. He despised that she worked as a detective and had sought to take her badge on many occasions.
“Patrick McAlexandar, I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.
The two couples moved across the floor until they were standing at the edge.
McAlexandar touched his wife’s hand. “Darling, why don’t you get us a glass of champagne?” She nodded and excused herself.
With his wife’s back to him, his niceties ended. The Viper was back in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. He was ready to strike. He held his gaze on her for a few seconds before his demeanor softened, and he extended his hand to Troy. “Nice to see you again, Matthews.”
Troy shook the man’s hand, but the encounter was brief, a mere touch and release.
To Madison, McAlexandar said, “In answer to your question”—he tugged down on his suit jacket—“why wouldn’t I be here?” He put on his media smile and extended his arms to take in the room.
“I’m surprised that you’d want to draw attention to yourself. After you withdrew from your position as police chief, I thought you crawled back into your hole.”
He wagged his finger at her, a mannerism with which she was all too familiar. Nothing this man could say or do would stop her from trying to nail him to the wall. He had to pay for his involvement with the Russians. Who knew many lives he had a hand in executing?
“Now, that’s not playing nice, Knight.”
“And you, of all people, should recognize that,” she hissed. Troy’s hand fell to her lower back. She sensed it was his way of asking her to keep things polite. But she wasn’t feeling inclined. “How many deaths are you responsible for, hmm? Two, four, or more? Come on, tell us.”
Troy removed his hand from her altogether now and clasped both in front of himself. He stretched his neck side to side, and it told Madison that not only was he uncomfortable with this confrontation, but he was also angry.
McAlexandar shoved his hands into his pockets. “You always have had quite the imagination.”
“Some people might think you’re worth respecting, but I see you for who you really are. I’m sure I’m not alone in that, either.” She refrained from completely speaking her mind. She could have been even more candid.
McAlexandar turned his gaze to Troy. “She’s always had an issue with male authority. Do you know what you’re getting involved with?”
She felt the surge of energy around him. Troy didn’t want to be roped into this conversation on any level.
“I love a woman who stands her ground and speaks her mind,” Troy simply replied.
Madison glanced at Troy, impressed by his candor.
“Well, then, you have that in spades with this one. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” McAlexandar said.
His wife returned with the champagne and spoke something in a hushed tone to him. “Ah, yes,” he said, and then turned to Madison and Troy. “I guess I won’t be winning your vote.”
Vote? Her heart raced. He had to be joking. She knew his past aspiration had been to run for mayor, but when he’d stepped down as police chief, she had hoped he no longer desired the electoral seat. Surely, he was just trying to get a rise out of her. Did he really have the nerve to go through with this?
“That’s right. I’m running for office in the fall. This city needs a major overhaul.” He lifted his champagne flute to them before slithering into the crowd with his wife.
“I can’t believe it,” Madison said, even though she did believe it.
“Neither can I.” Troy’s tone was sharp, and it was clear he wasn’t impressed.
Was it her doing or McAlexandar’s? If it were hers, she’d cut and run from this relationship. She wouldn’t change who she was for anyone, not even for six-pack abs and a handsome face. McAlexandar was a snake, and she would stand by that no matter the repercussions. If Troy wasn’t going to support her, or at least allow her space in this area, well, then, they weren’t meant to be together.
Despite her galloping heartbeat, she turned to him. She didn’t reach out for him and let the space between them do the communicating. “What can’t you believe?” she asked. The trust she had extended this man may come hurtling back in her face, but she stood strong.
Troy snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing server.
“I can’t believe that he talks to you like that. What a piece of shit.” He flung back the bubbly.
She was certain the expression on her face must have been convoluted—part smile, part confusion. Surely, a dazed look filled her eyes.
He jutted his empty glass in the direction that McAlexandar and his wife had gone. “You didn’t think I was going to take his side, did you?”
There was something there, in the tone of his voice, in the hardened edge his green eyes took on. If she admitted to considering just that, he would cross from agitation to rage. If she tried to cover up what she had been thinking, he’d tell and be angry anyhow. Where was that proverbial bell to save her?
“Honestly, I didn’t know—”
“You thought I’d take his side.” He wasn’t looking at her now. Instead, his eyes carried over the growing crowd, seemingly fixed on nothing.
She touched his forearm, and his gaze went to where her hand touched him, then up to her eyes. His eyes already haunted her soul, and now they tormented her. In them was a storm, and she had no idea whether to seek shelter or face it head-on.
Troy laid his hand over hers. “You never have to doubt whose side I’m on. Do you understand that?”
She nodded, albeit barely. Her breathing was so light it was almost nonexistent. She was one beat away from her heart stalling altogether.
“All right. Now what is the deal with you two?” he asked.
“The deal is that man is in cahoots with the Russian Mafia.”
“And you know this for a fact?”
She tempered her impulse to direct her anger at him. None of this was Troy’s doing. McAlexandar was to blame. “I have a witness who says he was in contact with Dimitre Petrov when he was at his last prison,” she said.
“And you’re the reason Petrov was transferred.”
Her jaw dropped slightly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “Of course I know.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You keep tabs on Dimitre?”
“I keep tabs on you and I know you watch Dimitre.”
Deadly Impulse Page 12