Damn, if only Madelyn had her own phone. But she’d left it behind and stubbornly refused to get a new one. Most of the time it didn’t matter. But now…
What if Nichole had gotten sick last night or had a car accident on the way home? What if Jim had hurt her again? He had been pretty irate when he crashed their party. But she’d felt certain he would have found a quiet place to pass out before Nichole arrived home last night.
If she had a phone, Nichole could have called her and told her she would not be able to make it to the gym this morning. Madelyn reconsidered the notion and decided not all conventional things were bad. Maybe she could lighten up. A little.
Perturbed, she headed back to the lesson.
“Everything all right?” Amadi asked.
No one knew about the incident. Nichole had made her swear on their friendship. So, she ground her teeth to nubs, nodded, and climbed back into the ring. She bowed blindly and fought.
“Madelyn, focus!” Amadi ordered as Ekene’s hand and feet flew at her from every direction.
The smug kid laughed, “Ha, she’s all mine.”
The presumptuous comment caught her attention by the throat. She zoned in on his movements and blocked his onslaught, save one kick that landed solidly in her core. Caving minimally from the impact she inhaled a jagged breath, pushing the pain deep inside. She rebounded with precision.
Two combination kicks herded Ekene to the ropes. “I don’t hear you running your mouth now,” she taunted. A three-combination hand-strike assault ended with a clean, but soft, thrust to his windpipe.
“That-a-girl, you neva give up!” Amadi called out from the rope’s edge.
After a series of energized and well-aimed attacks, Madelyn took the match ten to eight. In her distracted and sub-par physical condition the win surprised her. The two fighters respectfully tapped gloves and bowed signifying the end of the lesson.
Not being the type to take anything seriously, Ekene grabbed her in a headlock. He administered a standard-issue noogie to the crown of her head. The hair on top of her head escaped its holder, forming a terrible nest of knots almost instantly. While fighting tremors of laughter, Madelyn tried to wiggle herself loose. Amadi began his palaverous speech about the importance of maintaining a clear focus.
They all ignored Deacon’s low warning growl. It happened from time to time when a character he didn’t care for crossed the gym’s front. But the crack of impact and the explosion of shattering glass halted their friendly banter. Their heads snapped up to find the culprit standing tall in the gym entrance. Blood trickled from his balled fist while a knife gleamed in his other.
Deacon stood at attention, as did the hair along the path of his spine. His lips curled over long teeth and revealed healthy pink gums. With one word from Madelyn the fearless animal would own the situation. But she gave no such order. She was too horrified, angry, and confused to release him.
Forcing herself into action, she patted the nest of her hair down quickly and spoke, while the other three cautiously took in the drama. “Jim, what the hell are you doing?”
“Where is she, you stupid bitch?” He pointed the knife accusingly in her direction.
Angered and confused by the allegation, she fired back. “Have you even been home? I’ve known you to stay out and drink the night through. And I can smell the alcohol on you from here.”
“I didn’t put a finger on her. Where did you put her?” Jim barked.
Silence stretched taught to the point of snapping bones. He’d gone off the deep end. What had he done to her friend?
Jim took a step forward. “Tell me where she is or I swear I’ll gut you.”
“Enough!” Amadi roared.
Madelyn had enough of Jim Gallow’s knife-wielding idiocy. And that threat crossed the line. Nichole was a grown woman. For better or worse, she could make her own decision. But it’d be a frosty day in the islands before she’d let that ogre intimidate her.
Before she moved, Amadi bounded off the ring’s edge. He stopped three feet in front of Jim. An intense stare willed the belligerent man to take his shot. Jim, apparently not drunk enough to delude himself into thinking he could win the bout—though the two men stood eye to eye—turned and fled, trailing a litany of curses behind him.
4
Nathan shoved through the door as though reliving his glory days as a defensive tackle for Ole Miss. The name placard that read Special Agent Nathan Brewer, complete with the noble FBI seal, rattled. If the thing fell off, he’d chunk it in the garbage. Maybe then people would leave him the hell alone.
He had to escape the incessant cheers, pats on the back, and “at a boy’s” flying his way from every co-worker. Hell, even the damn mail boy had crossed over to the dark side, begging a high five like a two-year-old. Some jackass had even brought a cake. The red velvet confection looked like a man…a man with a bull’s eye on the center of his forehead.
How quickly people forgot. He tugged at his collar. Only four days ago his friend and partner, for all intents and purposes, Keen Hunt, had been lying in the ICU in critical condition. The image of Keen’s mother sobbing still floated in his frontal lobe. Her pain haunted him. The fear of losing her child had the regal woman broken and inconsolable on the hospital floor.
No one had been cheering then, and they shouldn’t be cheering now. Yes, miraculously Hunt was in the clear. But he still had a long road to a full recovery.
Nathan dropped into the standard issue uncomfortable-as-hell office chair, ignored its protesting groan, and stretched his legs across the floor. He canted his head toward the piles of paperwork awaiting his attention. Each form wanted to know the same details over and over again about “the case” as everyone seemed to call it. He slumped deeper into his chair, not wanting to give the forms or the details his regard.
The partners were considered heroes where the FBI and U.S. government were concerned. They wouldn’t approve the term. They’d simply done their jobs.
And nearly gotten Hunt killed.
The pair had tracked the notorious Cuban mob boss, Lorenzo Famosa, for the better part of two years. They had studied his behavior, his contacts, his hit men, and his investors. When this circus was finally wrapped up they would take down half the dirty underworld in a single move. Patiently and diligently, they had worked and waited until time for the take down.
Brewer and Hunt had planned it to perfection. Tactical units had been placed at the front and back of the abandoned warehouse where the transaction was set to take place. The units were waiting for the word to bar any escape. They had ambulances and federal vehicles stashed in an adjacent warehouse. And when the microphones and cameras had caught the dealing, they moved in.
Everyone was in cuffs and getting shoved into FBI vehicles in less than a minute. It had gone off without a hitch—until they were double-crossed by one of their own.
Nathan leaned over his desk and rubbed his fists on his forehead. The image of his friend lying in a pool of blood stained his mind. His fingers still felt the flesh and blood of his friend’s near-fatal wound. He’d had to place two fingers in the hole to stop his friend from bleeding out. The bullet had demolished Hunt’s right shoulder and clipped his artery. They were lucky the ambulance had been so close.
A squeaky hinge alerted Nathan to company. “Brewer, my office,” the gruff voice of his superior demanded. He nodded in response.
Christ, what now?
Nathan went in with his guns locked and ready. “Sir, as I told you before. I had no alternative. Agent Helm and Famosa had to be eliminated as threats. Keen was—”
Williams’ raised hand stopped his explanation cold. The hand told him to sit, too. Nathan complied.
Dr. James Williams, Ph D and MD, sat across from Nathan. His crinkled face told his story. He was born, he started working, and he never quit. Nathan had been working for the director for five years. He respected his opinion and his work ethic, to a point. But Nathan thought he could lighten up a little. A
tight drink with a loose woman every now and then would do the trick, but he wasn’t about to voice the suggestion.
He liked his job. Even when he hated it.
“I know you just got done with a doozy and I know you’re down a partner. But we got a break in the Field-Dresser case.”
Nathan’s shoulders reared. His heart sat on his tongue.
“I need you to look into it,” Williams continued.
Nathan swallowed. He sucked in a deep breath, and then another before he could speak. “You told me to back off. No, you ordered me to back off,” he bit.
“We both take orders, Brewer. Sometimes, we don’t like or agree with them. We do it anyway because order sets us apart from the apes. Just barely.” Williams’ hazy blue stare held firm.
“Who told you to back off and why?” Nathan asked with fewer teeth than before.
“They had their man. Just because you didn’t believe it didn’t mean they didn’t have all the evidence they needed to go to trial.”
“It’s no coincidence that we’re talking about this now, when yesterday was the anniversary. He’s taken another one.” Nathan nearly snarled.
“I flagged all missing persons reports for the island of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands back when you predicted it’d be his next location. It’s up to you to discern whether it’s the Field-Dresser’s work or a shitty coincidence.”
“The missing woman has dark hair, a pretty smile, and a long lean body.”
Williams’ upper lip twitched and it was all the answer Nathan needed.
“I’m sending Dick with you.”
Nathan sawed his teeth.
“Y’all are wheels up at Homestead in an hour. I suggest you work out your differences in-air. I won’t have the two of you screwing this up over a passed rivalry.”
Nathan imagined opening the hatch mid-flight and shoving Special Agent Richard Kepler out without a parachute. “Yes sir.” Talk about working things out in air.
5
“Stay, bud,” Madelyn ordered. Her whisper echoed in the marble entrance of the police substation, but Deacon’s whine overpowered it. The silk of his ears nuzzled her bare calf. He’d stuck close all day, refusing to chase monkeys during her first two classes or play with her students at break. She supposed he only wanted to comfort her, but his somber mood seemed more foreboding than her rampant imagination.
She crouched as demurely as she could in a skirt and heels and cradled his head. “No dogs allowed. Do you want Mrs. Edna to yell at us again?”
His gaze lifted to the ceiling. If a dog could roll their eyes, Deacon had. Madelyn kissed his forehead, rubbed his fat jowls, and then stood. With a pouting huff he plopped himself down in a corner of the large corridor.
Madelyn left her only source of comfort on the chilly marble and clacked her way through the main hallway. The knot that had been growing in her stomach all day cinched tight.
Where the hell was Nichole?
Two men loitered in the building’s foyer. A skinny man with a sideways stare and a terrible case of the shakes slouched in a corner chair. Track marks, both fresh and fading, marred his arm. Desperation bloated his sunken eyes. An odd sadness washed over her. She couldn’t imagine needing something so badly that it’d be worth your life.
The second occupant’s leather vest boasted a screaming skull in flames. His steel-shackled arms paid tribute to Anita on one and Layla on the other. She wondered briefly if they were mother and daughter tributes or lovers dueling for the burly man’s affections. She hoped her first notion was accurate because, given the evil scowl plaguing his face, she could not see how this brute’s heart could seduce two women with its spell.
Madelyn hurried to the first set of double doors and peeked her head through the small, square window. Edna—the receptionist from hell—sat behind her desk tapping the skinny gold watch on her wrist. Squaring her shoulders she pushed through the door.
“Hi, Edna. How are you doing today?”
“I’m trying to keep Chief’s schedule, if you people would oblige,” the women snapped.
“I wasn’t given a specific time to meet him. He told me to come after school,” Madelyn explained.
“School let out an hour and forty-five minutes ago.”
“Yes, but then I have tutoring.”
“She told me all about it,” Chief explained from his doorway.
“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” Edna squawked.
“I’ve been a little busy, wouldn’t you say?” Adrian Tau, better known as Chief, though he wasn’t a police chief, stepped out of his office and motioned Madelyn forward with a wave. “Don’t mind Mrs. Edna. She’s just ornery because her husband wants to postpone their anniversary celebration for a week.”
“No need to air my business,” the older woman said.
When Madelyn approached, Chief opened his arms wide and she surprised herself by diving into his embrace. Her slender frame turned into a puff of smoke in his magic act, disappearing in his arms. The comfort was something she wouldn’t have normally allowed, but she accepted the kindness she needed. She sank from the weight of worry. Emotions crashed against the dam inside her, but she wouldn’t permit them to breach.
“I’m surprised he didn’t postpone it indefinitely,” he chuckled softly.
Madelyn collected her scattered thoughts and pushed back from the bear hug. “Hey, Chief.”
The brackets of his mouth thinned as his lips pursed. “You look a little ragged.”
“I feel it,” she admitted.
“Well, come on in. We’ll see if we can figure out what’s going on.” He stepped to the side and ushered her into his office with a hand on the middle of her back.
She tried to ease the tension in her muscles, but they didn’t listen. She’d invited his touch by accepting his hug. The line had been breached and there was no going back. A full breath eased the worst of her discomfort...until she choked on the exhale.
A man leaned broad shoulders against the wall to the right of Chief’s desk. One foot kicked over the other and his arms folded across his chest. His sharp khaki suit, striped shirt, and bold tie said, ‘money,’ and, ‘turn up the AC.’ His face, on the other hand, said nothing at all. His classically handsome features and dark eyes gave nothing away.
She paused in the doorway. Chief’s soft belly bumped into her back, forcing her to continue into the office on her own two feet or on her face. “Sorry,” she breathed. I didn’t realize anyone else would be here.”
Madelyn forced her feet forward into the small office, and then noticed a second suited man sitting in front of Chief’s desk. He was beautiful in an overly obvious way. He looked like Barbie’s husband, Ken. She squinted against the blinding shine from his blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect smile.
Chief skirted her and moved behind his desk, but didn’t sit. “These gentlemen surprised me with a visit just a few short minutes before you arrived.” He raised a palm to her, and then swung it toward the man at the wall. “Madelyn Garrett. This is Special Agent Nathan Brewer with the FBI.”
“The FBI?” The shock translated into stilted syllables.
Nichole had hardly been missing for a day. Why was the FBI involved and why was the agent staring at her? He didn’t smile like his counterpart. Did she have something on her face or did the mere sight of her piss him off?
Finally, his lips parted. “Mrs. Garrett,” he said in the deepest, sexiest voice her ears had ever had the pleasure of absorbing. Her heart stopped beating. She wanted to clutch her chest to restart it. Upon further thought, she wanted to slap herself for being so senseless. He’d said two words. And he was a man. Just a man. And men lied. They cheated. They decimated futures.
“It’s Ms. Garrett,” she blurted. Trying to recover, she added, “You can call me Madelyn.”
Before Chief could continue with his introductions, the second suit stood and snagged her hand. This guy gave everything away in a dashing smile, arched brow, and an overbearing lean.
“Ms. Garrett, I am Special Agent Richard Kepler. Please don’t be alarmed by our presence. We’re here to help.”
She shook his hand quickly, and then withdrew from his touch. He stepped closer and placed his hand on the small of her back, damn near her butt. In fact, his fingers brushed the band of her thong. “Please, have a seat,” he nudged.
Madelyn glared at his hand. “Agent Kepler, I am perfectly capable of finding my own seat. You didn’t have to show me where it was. It’s attached to my body. Has been for years.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The agent’s hand went up as though her ass had burned him. If only that were her super-power.
A single deep chuckle warmed the room. By the time she moved the chair nearest the door a few more inches from Agent Kepler and sat all the men’s faces were masks of concern or impassivity. She placed her purse on her lap and crossed her legs at the ankle.
“Why is the FBI involved? My friend has only been missing for a few hours. Is Jim involved in other crimes?” Madelyn asked.
“They’re here to audit this interview.” Chief glowered at each man in turn. “That means I ask the questions and you listen.” Neither man spoke. “They’ll question you later, if they choose.”
The bear of a man swung his gaze back to her. “I entered Nichole’s missing person’s report into the system immediately. She’s a woman of routine. She’d never abandon her students or husband. We know that. So, I didn’t wait the mandatory seventy-two hours. The report apparently flagged due to similarities in an investigation. It’s nothing for you to worry about, Maddy.”
Chief sat and rested his forearms on his desk. On either side, stacks of files cluttered his workspace. A furrow creased his tanned forehead. “What crimes are Jim involved in that you know about?”
Madelyn fiddled with the tan leather strap on her bag. She’d promised Nichole she wouldn’t say anything about her and Jim’s relationship ‘troubles,’ as she liked to mildly refer to them. But she wasn’t here, there, or anywhere, which suspended all pinkie promises.
For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1) Page 3