by S. R. Grey
I told her I had no problem with staying awhile longer and that I’d give the part to Brody when he arrived. Helena thanked me and placed a small cardboard box—I assumed it held the part for the ferry—on the counter.
After they left I paced around the café looking for something to do. I was wired from all the caffeine and consequently restless as hell. There was a pile of unfolded cloth napkins on the other end of the counter, so I reached over, pulled them to me, and began to fold them. Soon I had a row of neatly folded napkins before me. Just as I was working on the last one, I heard the café door swing open.
I turned, expecting to see Brody or possibly even Adam and Nate. But instead my eyes fell on J.T. O’Brien. Judging from his unsteady stance and the fact that he was wearing only a thin T-shirt and long shorts despite the cold, wet weather, I suspected he was drunk…or on something.
I placed the napkin I’d been folding down and keeping my voice even, said, “Hey, J.T. Are you here to pick up the part for the ferry?”
He walked toward me, his expression dark and troubled. “What the fuck are you talking about, Maddy?” he slurred, his tone gruff.
Obviously he wasn’t here for the part, so why was he here? When he was only a few feet away, I noticed he was holding an almost empty bottle of amber-colored liquid against his leg. “Why don’t you give me the bottle?” I said, sighing and reaching for it. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“You think I’ve had enough?” J.T. snorted, pulling the bottle out of my reach. “Sorry, but I don’t take orders from someone who hangs out with a killer.”
I knew what he was insinuating. “Shut up, J.T., you don’t really believe that,” I said, turning back to the counter, hoping maybe he’d just leave.
“You don’t know anything!” J.T. bellowed from behind me.
Ignoring his outburst, I muttered, “You’re an ugly drunk.”
Suddenly the whiskey bottle he’d been holding whizzed past my head, missing me by mere inches. It crashed into the wall behind the coffee bar, raining down shards of glass and dark, sticky liquid. I spun around, my hands reaching back to grip the edge of the counter as I cowered away from an approaching drunk and furious J.T.
“God, J.T.,” I gasped, horrified. “What the hell is wrong with you? Stop it!”
He closed in on me, halting only inches away, close enough for me to smell the whiskey on his breath. “Stop it,” J.T. mimicked in a high-pitched voice. His dark eyes were wild and flashed menacingly. I knew I was in danger. “Maddy, as I see it, you are in no position to tell me what to do.”
His lip curled up into a nasty sneer, and he leaned over me. Trying, and succeeding, to intimidate me. I turned my head to the side, my sweaty hands slipping as I struggled to keep hold of the counter behind me. “J.T., please,” I whimpered.
In my face J.T. yelled, “Please what?” He slammed his hands down on either side of me.
“P-p-please stop,” I stammered, tears welling up, despite my effort to suppress them.
J.T. laughed what could only be described as a sinister laugh, throwing his head back and chortling. Seeing an out I tried to duck under his arm. But he was too quick. He stopped me by grabbing the front of my shirt and bunching the material up in his fist. “And where do you think you’re going?” he growled. “Trying to run so you can go find your rich, murdering new friend?”
I didn’t answer, and J.T. continued. “You do know you’re just another piece of ass for Ward to pursue?” He cocked his head to the side, sizing me up. “Shame too. I always pegged you for having better taste.”
He touched my cheek, and I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. “Fucking bitch,” he roared while slamming me back forcefully against the counter.
A sharp pain cut across my lower back, and J.T. was back in my face. “Tell me, Maddy, what is it about Ward? Is he that great of a fuck?”
I closed my eyes, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I hadn’t even gotten to that point with Adam, but I knew it wouldn’t matter to an enraged J.T. O’Brien. “Answer me,” he demanded, his hot whiskey breath nauseating me.
A choked sob escaped my lips, and just when I feared the worst might happen, J.T. was violently yanked away from me. As I slid down to the floor, eyes still tightly closed, I heard a loud crash and the sound of punches being thrown.
“Get the fuck off me, you murderer,” J.T. protested, sounding frightened and pained.
“Fuck you.” —More punches, J.T. coughing— “Don’t you ever fucking touch her, you hear me?” I knew that voice, so I wiped at my teary eyes and glanced up to see a glowering Adam looming over a curled-up J.T. on the floor.
“Don’t worry. I won’t ever touch her again. I don’t want any more of your sloppy seconds anyway,” J.T. laughed.
Adam’s hands clenched at his sides, and J.T. flinched. “Go ahead, Ward,” he challenged, his voice thick with blood. “Hit me again.”
Adam spat in J.T.’s direction. “You’re not worth it, asshole.”
“Whatever. You still can’t change the fact that I was fucking your fiancée almost the entire time you were away at college,” J.T. yelled defiantly.
Adam’s expression turned murderous. “Get up, you pathetic drunk. Get up and fight like a man.” His voice, now, disturbingly calm.
But instead of getting up, J.T. rolled to his side and suddenly choked out, “You took away the only girl I ever loved, you fuck.”
Well, this was news. J.T. had loved Chelsea? As J.T. lay sobbing on the floor, drunk and defeated, Nate emerged from the shadows to stand next to Adam. Had he been there the entire time? If so, Nate had had Adam’s back throughout the duration of the fight. Not that I was surprised.
“What do you want me to do?” Nate asked Adam.
“Get him out of here before I end up really hurting him,” Adam said shakily, cracks showing in his controlled veneer. “Take him to Max’s.”
“Why’d you do it?” J.T. bellowed, spitting blood. Nate pulled him up and began to drag him to the door. “Why?” J.T. croaked.
“Wait,” Adam said.
Nate halted, J.T. in tow. “I didn’t kill her, you fucking idiot. Did you ever consider that maybe she just left?” Adam paused, eyeing J.T. carefully. “Chelsea didn’t love you any more than she loved me. Chelsea only loved Chelsea, so quit wasting your time—and your life—pining away for her.”
“She didn’t leave,” J.T. said quietly as Adam was turning away.
He spun back around. “Is that a confession, O’Brien?”
“Fuck you!” J.T. shouted, and Nate tightened his grip on him. “You know I didn’t kill her.”
“Do I?” Adam asked.
His stance, expression—just everything—was eerily calm. J.T. must have noticed the same thing because he said nothing more. Nate pulled him up and out the door.
With both men gone, Adam rushed over to where I sat on the floor, legs pulled up to my chest with my arms wrapped tightly around them.
He knelt down in front of me. “Are you OK, Maddy? Do you want me to fly you to the hospital? I can—”
“Adam,” I interrupted. “I don’t need to go to a hospital. I’ll be fine, I’m just a little shaken up.”
He took my face in his hands, scanning for any signs of harm. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? When I was coming in, I saw him slam you back into the counter.” I winced, suddenly cognizant of a dull aching across my lower back.
“Maddy?” Adam asked. “Where does it hurt?”
“My back. But it doesn’t hurt that much.”
Adam touched the hem at the back of my shirt. “Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Go ahead,” I whispered.
Adam scooted behind me and lifted up the back of my shirt, just enough to see what kind of damage had been inflicted. “Fuc
king J.T.,” he muttered under his breath.
“How bad does it look?” I asked, worried since Adam’s hand seemed to be frozen in place.
He sighed. “There’s some bruising, but that’s the worst of it.” He lowered my shirt back into place. “It still makes me wish I’d fucked him up more than I did. He had no right touching you, let alone hurting you.”
I turned to face him, my eyes meeting his. “You saved me, Adam,” I said softly. “If you hadn’t come in…”
I shuddered at the thought of all that could have happened, and Adam put his arms around me, carefully avoiding the bruised part of my back. I snaked my arms around his neck, whispering, “Thank you.”
He really had saved me.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, Maddy,” Adam said softly. “That is, if you’ll let me.”
I held onto this man I was falling for, his embrace comforting me. I believed his words, but I hadn’t forgotten my earlier resolution. I needed to steel myself and ask him for the truth. I needed to know what Chelsea had been holding over him. I wanted Adam to protect me—and he had tonight—but I couldn’t trust him completely. Not until he trusted me enough to share this big secret. I mean, now that Chelsea was gone, was it even still relevant?
“Adam, I need to, uh, ask you…something,” I said in a tiny voice.
He pulled back, his expression curious, “Yeah?”
“Uhh…” I hesitated.
Asking Adam a question of that magnitude—while staring into his striking blue eyes—was not a simple thing to do.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. OK, here goes. “Was there, uh, somethin—”
Just as I was getting to the question everybody seemed to want an answer to, I heard the café door open. I opened my eyes and looked up.
And then I groaned in exasperation, because I realized I wouldn’t be asking my question. At least not anytime soon.
Chapter 12
Helena scanned the mess that was her café. Broken chairs, overturned tables, shattered glass littering the floor, blood and whiskey spilled. “My God,” she uttered. “What happened in here?”
Her eyes flickered our way as Adam straightened and helped me to my feet. “J.T. O’Brien is what happened here, Helena. He showed up drunk.”
Understanding seemed to dawn on Helena; she shook her head and sighed. “Are you two OK?” she asked quietly.
Before we could answer, the café door swung wide. Nate had returned from dropping J.T. off at Max’s house. So after we were seated, the three of us took turns giving Helena a detailed account of the events that had transpired in her absence. I filled in the blanks in the timeline, explaining what had happened from the time Trina and Helena had left up until Adam and Nate’s well-timed arrival to the café.
I didn’t miss the number of times Adam shifted irritably, blue eyes flashing in ire, as he listened to the vivid details of J.T.’s unprovoked attack. When the story was finished, Helena pulled me into a tight hug. And then she strongly encouraged me to press charges against J.T.
But I was torn on what to do. On one hand, nothing too terrible had occurred, thanks to Adam’s intervention. But on the other hand, it frightened me to envision all that could have happened. And I knew J.T. should have to face the full repercussions of his criminal behavior.
“What happened to the sweet guy I once knew? We were actually friends at one time,” I lamented, still in disbelief over the actions of a J.T. I no longer recognized.
Helena voiced what I already knew in my heart. “Drugs and alcohol have a way of changing people, Maddy. And it’s never for the better.”
Nate proceeded to tell me that if I pressed charges, J.T. would then be forced to enter a Harbour Falls mandatory drug and alcohol dependency rehabilitation—in lieu of doing any time—since he was already on probation for drug charges in the past. “It’ll actually be the best thing for him.” Nate said.
When I asked about the specifics, he explained that it would be a six-week program, with two weeks of inpatient therapy and four weeks of outpatient support. It sounded like it would, at least, be a starting point for J.T. to get some help.
“Do I have to go over to Harbour Falls to press charges?” I asked. Fade Island and Cove Beach both fell under the jurisdiction of Harbour Falls.
Adam cleared his throat. “No, actually Max can take your statement. He’s actually an officer with the Harbour Falls PD.”
This was news, though I couldn’t say I was completely surprised by the admission. After thinking it over for a few more minutes, I decided to press charges. J.T.’s problems were serious, and I had to face the fact that he could have very easily been the one behind Chelsea’s disappearance. His fury had been truly terrifying. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that level of rage leading to something like—I hated to admit it—murder.
I shuddered as we all rose, and in response Adam put his arm around me. Before we left the café, he told Nate to make the necessary arrangements for me to meet with Max in the morning. I broke in, saying I didn’t want to go alone to Max’s bungalow to enter my statement. Max and I had made amends, but I didn’t really care to show up at his home all by myself. Needless to say, I was relieved when Adam said he’d go with me.
Stepping out into the cold night air, Adam pulled me close as he led us to his Porsche. “Maddy?” he questioned when I hesitated on the sidewalk.
“What about my car?” I nodded to the Lexus parked in front of his car.
“Don’t worry, I can take you down to the dock after you meet with Max, and then Trina and I can pick up your car sometime tomorrow. We’ll drop it off at your cottage while you’re with your dad.”
Oh shit! My dad! I’d forgotten all about my plans to visit with him Sunday. I’d mentioned it in passing to Adam the night before, and thank goodness I had. Or I’d have ended up inadvertently blowing off my poor father. Of course Adam had no clue I had no plans to mention his name to the mayor. My dad was still under the impression I was staying away from “that Ward guy,” as he had requested. However, I suspected that once my father found out the details of what had happened at the café—and he surely would—there was little doubt in my mind that he’d be more concerned with me staying away from J.T. O’Brien.
Ugh! Statement in the morning, my dad in the afternoon. All this when all I really wanted to do was just spend some time alone with Adam. After all, I needed to ask him about the blackmail allegations. With that in mind, and not really caring to spend the night alone at my isolated cottage after the café incident, I blurted out, “Will you stay with me tonight?”
Adam was opening the passenger door for me and shot me a curious sideways glance. I quickly amended, “Oh stop. I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”
I got into the car, and once Adam was seated, he said, “Why don’t we stay at my place. You can sleep in my bedroom.” I raised my eyebrows, and he threw my words back at me mockingly, “Oh stop, Maddy.”
Happy to be laughing so soon after what had happened, I smacked his leg playfully. “Smart-ass,” I muttered.
Adam started the car and said, “Seriously, you can have my room. I’ll sleep in one of the guestrooms.”
I would’ve been content with a guestroom but didn’t protest. Besides, I was too preoccupied wondering how one casually brought up the subject of blackmail.
We neared my cottage, and Adam asked if I wanted to stop. I didn’t have anything to sleep in, no toothbrush, nothing really, so I said yes. Adam waited in the car, and I ran inside and threw some essentials into an overnight bag. I rushed back out to the car, and we started up to Adam’s place.
I thought about asking my big question but decided to wait until we were settled in at his house to broach the tricky blackmail subject. I could wait a while longer, but tonight was definitely going to be the night. I had to
find out exactly what Chelsea had been holding over him.
When we entered the spacious foyer at Adam’s place, the first thing I heard was Trina’s voice lilting from down a long hallway to the right. She sounded like she was on the phone with someone. Adam explained that she was in his study and probably talking to Walker. I hastily whispered that I’d rather not have to recount the café incident for the second time in less than an hour. He nodded understandingly, and we hurried up the long, curving staircase, where he led me down another hallway to his bedroom suite.
The large, high-ceilinged bedroom resonated with the same masculine style as the living room. But while the living room had boasted gleaming hardwood floors and Persian rugs, this room was blanketed in plush carpeting that was as white as freshly fallen snow.
Stepping over the threshold, my feet sunk into the heavenly pile. To my right there was a massive, black marble fireplace, complete with a cozy sitting area. The entire far wall was made up of ceiling-to-floor windows with long, slate-gray curtains that were drawn for the night. A bed, much larger than a king-sized, spanned half the distance down the wall across from the fireplace. It was covered in luxurious-looking black and gray bedding and far too many pillows to count. The only bright colors in the room were contained in the abstract art on the walls.
“Um, is there a bathroom?” I asked, suddenly anxious to get out of clothes that reeked of whiskey.
“Over there.” Adam pointed to a door just beyond the fireplace.
I hoisted my overnight bag up higher on my shoulder and went into the bathroom. Flipping the light switch on, I closed the door and dropped my bag to the floor.
Wow, now this is a bathroom, I thought as I strolled around the spacious room. A huge walk-in shower, hexagon-shaped and sporting multiples nozzles, took up one side of the room. And in a recessed area, under a set of small, frosted windows; a glossy, black porcelain tub—equipped with whirlpool jets, no less—sat sunken into the floor. Wow, Adam sure liked his amenities.