“Domestic abuse,” she said.
Chief’s round shoulders straightened and he threaded his fingers. “Now, I’ve known Jim to hit the bottle pretty hard, but I’ve never seen bruises on Nichole. The times I’ve been called to the house their matches were verbal, not violent.”
“It only happened once…that I know about. She made me promise not to tell anyone. But it was bad. She called me crying in the middle of the night. Before she said anything a loud crash disconnected the line. I got dressed and headed straight there. He’d beaten her so badly both her eyes were swollen shut.”
“Why didn’t you report it?” Chief demanded.
“I was selfish,” she admitted. “I wanted to keep my friend instead of doing what I knew I should have. She refused to go to the hospital. Refused to get you involved. So, I took her home and nursed her for nearly three weeks.”
“Six months ago she visited her sister in Spain.” Chief balled one hand into a fist. The enormous fingers bulged like overstuffed sausages. A yellow tint discolored his skin as though the constriction had cut all blood supply to his extremities. But his face remained neutral. “She never left the island?”
Madelyn shook her head. A sharp pang of regret jabbed between her ribs.
“What was that look?” Agent Brewer asked in a near whisper. Still, his voice stirred something wicked inside her.
“I’m asking the questions,” Chief barked. “How’d you keep Jim from harassing you?”
“That night, I found Nichole stumbling down the road almost a mile from her house. Jim didn’t know I had her, but it only took him two days to come banging on my door. I told him if he pressed her to come back…or ever hurt her again, I’d make her vanish.”
The room iced over at that little statement. Agent Kepler stiffened beside her. Chief’s chair creaked. Agent Brewer didn’t move, but the weight of his stare doubled.
“What did you mean?” Chief Adrian Tau asked.
“I meant he’d never see her again. Nichole and I made a pact that first night. If he ever hurt her again, she’d leave the island. She’d move someplace he’d never find her and start over.”
“Nichole doesn't have the means to do that. She’s a school teacher and Jim drinks through his fishing money,” Chief explained.
“I do,” she said simply.
He waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he sat up in his seat. “You’re a school teacher too.”
She nodded.
“Fine,” he huffed. “Is that what’s happening here? Did you make Nichole disappear?”
“No.” Madelyn strangled her leather purse strap. “Like I told you on the phone, we left Paradise last night about an hour after Jim’s tirade and that was the last time I saw her. She was supposed to meet me at the gym this morning, but she never showed. I held out hope until she didn’t show for work.”
“After we spoke I checked Nichole’s house. No one was home, but everything looked normal. No signs of a struggle or that she packed in a hurry.”
“Did you go inside?” Madelyn asked.
“No. I looked through the windows.”
“Was her car there?”
“Who’s running this investigation?” Chief snapped.
Madelyn sat back in her seat, surprised, but not deterred by the man’s frustration. Actually, his resentment fueled her own. Her friend was missing and they all sat in a circle talking about it, instead of doing something to find her. Well, she and Chief talked. The other two—most qualified to handle the task—sat like spectators at a tennis match, watching the back and forth.
Chief cleared his throat. “Her car wasn’t there. I checked local spots and her mother’s house. I questioned Jim at work. Now, I need you to tell me what happened last night at the bar.”
She recalled the scene just as it had unfolded. When the image of Jim dragging Nichole toward the door flashed in her mind, her conscience caught up with her. She should have insisted Nichole stay with her last night, but she hadn’t. And now everything was a mess.
“What happened next?” Chief prodded.
“I goaded him so he’d let Nichole go. It worked like a charm,” she said acidly.
“Now why would you go and do a thing like that? Jim is a very strong man. He could’ve really hurt you.”
“It probably wasn’t the smartest thing, but I had to do something to help her.”
He shook his head. “Keep going.”
“He let her go and came after me. Luckily, I hadn’t had any more to drink than I had and he’d had far more to drink than he should’ve. Bouncers intercepted his second attack and hauled him out the door.”
Chief’s voice turned into a reprimand. “You mean to tell me you grappled with Jim Gallow? Madelyn, he’s nearly twice your size. Damn it girl, you’re going to get yourself into a real spot one day walking around like you’re Wonder Woman.”
“Nichole and I left an hour later,” she continued, ignoring his rant. “The bouncers escorted us out in light of the evening’s events. Jim was nowhere to be seen. We both figured he’d found a quiet place to pass out. We got in our cars—I’d parked next to her—and pulled out of the lot. Nichole turned right toward her house and I went left toward mine.”
They talked about the crowd, the music, the weather. When Madelyn was thoroughly exhausted with the sound of her own voice Chief got her a glass of water and they went over everything again.
She tried to keep focused on the task at hand, but restlessness had her eyes darting. Time and again they landed on the man leaning on the wall. The typical island man was more boy than man, long-haired and hippie like. That type was easy to ignore. But this specimen’s brooding presence demanded her attention.
Her pulse quickened and she flushed with a forgotten heat. Hormones dormant for too long raged. Luckily, sanity body-checked her quick and dirty fantasy of exactly what she could do with that hard mouth.
When every detail of the night had been picked over like a carcass on the forest floor Chief leaned back in his chair. “Maddy, you’ve given me a lot to work with. I’ll let you know the moment I have any information. Now get out of here. I know Deacon is waiting for you to go for your evening run.”
Madelyn extended her hand to Chief a little too quickly, betraying her desperation to be free of the suffocating room and all the men inside it. “Thanks, Chief. Agents.” She nodded at the strangers and then stood.
Agent Kepler hopped to attention. Madelyn turned away before he could say or do anything that would ultimately land her in jail. Through the glass she saw Edna’s tapping foot and the hand on her hip. The woman’s ample behind held open one of the double doors.
Please not now.
Before she fully opened Chief’s office door the woman lit into her. “Ms. Garrett, we’ve talked about your beast before. It’s a danger and shouldn’t be allowed on the island. But it is most certainly not allowed in my building.”
She’d tried letting her pup’s good behavior and loving manner speak for themselves. She’d tried wooing the woman with her favorite goodies. She’d tried a community petition in which she’d logged over three thousand names. Madelyn breathed deeply, pulled the door closed behind her, and smiled. She was done trying.
“Service dogs are allowed in the building.”
“He’s a service dog?” Edna scoffed.
Madelyn conceded with a nod.
“Oh really?” Her haughty nose rose by the second. “What is his function? You’re obviously not blind. Do you have seizures?”
“I suffer from multiple personality disorder.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“Deacon’s presence keeps Mary Lynn in check. Trust me,” she said sweetly, “you want him around. Otherwise, she would break free and tell you in none too kind words exactly what kind of a bitch you are.” She skirted past the dumb-struck woman. “Have a great day.”
The tiny triumph she gained from besting mean ole Edna faded by the time she barreled through the station�
��s main entrance with Deacon on her heels. Heat from the mid-day sun infused her irritation with strength.
Mr. FBI hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in her or in Nichole’s disappearance. He’d only asked a single question the entire two hours she was being interviewed. And he hadn’t even taken notes. Agent Kepler was all too interested in her legs. He hadn’t stopped inspecting them like bits of fiber under a microscope.
Bureaucrats just here for a paycheck.
Madelyn wrestled open the door to her Jeep. Deacon leaped inside and hopped the console to his seat. The pup’s lolling tongue and intelligent eyes only amplified the pain of regret. If Nichole had been sitting there the night before, she wouldn’t be missing. She slid into the seat.
Helplessness closed itself in the cab with her, despite Deacon’s normally bracing presence. She snapped her seatbelt into place, determined to eradicate that feeling.
6
“Wrap up for me.” Nathan pushed away from the wall.
“But I have a date,” Dick held up a hand.
“We just got here. How in the hell do you have a date?” Nathan snarled.
“I’m a friendly guy,” Dick shrugged.
“You’re on the clock,” Nathan countered. He grabbed the knob, but the guy’s hand on his arm pulled him up short.
“Where are you going? Oh, to get a date of your own. She’s a man-eater. Watch your nuts. I think she’d crack ’em in a second.” The bastard chuckled quietly.
“I’m following a lead.” He stared at Dick’s hand for a second before it slipped from his jacket.
“I want to talk to the man in charge of your circus, not the clown,” Adrian Tau interjected from behind his desk.
Dick’s face didn’t look so pretty with an indignant bloom of red and a rumpled grimace. Nathan stopped the man’s retaliation with the kick of a brow. Then he turned his full force on the cop. “I understand not wanting outsiders in your business, but you’re too stubborn for your citizens’ own good. If you don’t accept our help, I guarantee this won’t be your case in twenty-four hours. It’ll probably be mine even if you do. So, enjoy shoving us around while you still can.” Nathan turned away.
“What lead?” his non-partner asked.
He let the closed door do the talking as he hurried past Adrian Tau’s grumbling witch of a secretary and down the hallway. By the time he made it outside a silver Jeep eased away from the curb with a mammoth-sized dog hanging its head out the window.
Nathan sprinted for the rental and yanked at his tie. Good Lord, he had a recliner bigger than the tin can. On the bright side, if he wrecked, they could use it as his coffin. And he damn well might wreck, driving on the left side of the road. He shrugged off his suit coat and tossed it the foot and a half to the other seat, crammed his body behind the wheel, and took off, playing a hunch.
The engine whined like a crazed child as he gunned it to the beachfront road. When Madelyn went right instead of left he pumped the brakes and earned a blaring horn at his back. He hadn’t expected that. He’d predicted she’d head straight to Nichole’s house to nose around.
His rental idled in the middle of the street while he thought it out. Then he smiled and veered left.
Women and their outfits. No way could she snoop in heels.
He followed the road past the docks and hooked another left at a fork, which led him away from the coast to where the other half lived. Only one wrong turn later he pulled past the driveway he sought. On the far side of the curve Nathan parked at the edge of the road, grabbed gloves from his bag in the sorry excuse for a trunk, and then strolled several yards back.
Natural vegetation overflowed the gravel in places, acting like a tunnel. The short drive allowed enough space for two cars to park one in front of the other with the bumper of the first nearly kissing the house. A realtor would label the place quaint, which translated into really small and old, but with potential.
Though no cars occupied the landing strips Nathan measured his footsteps. His gaze swept back and forth over the pale yellow house, paying close attention to the wavy glass windows and the woods surrounding the house. Two short planters brimmed with a flowering shrub bracketed the teal door. Above the threshold a painted placard read Gallow. It seemed Nichole worked to unlock the home’s promise.
Nathan eased around the porch post, eyeing the scaly lizard that scampered across the banister. “Hello,” he knocked. The entire house vibrated from the mild force of his knuckles. When no one responded he peered in through the window.
The one-room home didn’t allow many places for a person to hide. Sheets lay only half on the empty bed, which could have been partitioned off by a white linen curtain pulled back on either side. A door gaped in the back corner of the house revealing a toilet and the edge of a shower stall.
He knocked once more, slipped on his gloves, and then tried the knob. Unlocked. People these days never ceased to amaze him. Just toss out the welcome mat. Hell, why not pack up your valuables and leave them at the curb for a thief? He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Booze and fish masked the faint scent of spice. A few feet from the door he walked between a table for two and small seating area with a sofa and two wooden rocking chairs. Paintings of island life tastefully filled the walls and were all signed with a frilly, ‘NG.’ One white shelf bulged floor to ceiling with books. Each stood upright in perfect alphabetical order by author, and then title, the wraps separated from some of the spines.
In the sink a fractured plate, a small cooked fish, and what looked to be cornbread mash with okra littered the basin. Nathan rubbed his stomach. What a waste. He’d skipped breakfast because of the crowded break room. The small jet hadn’t offered so much as a peanut.
Nathan guessed that Nichole had made her husband dinner before going out last night. The jackass—in his drunken rage—had more than likely chucked the plate of food before heading to the bar to confront his wife.
He riffled through the wardrobe and then a small desk containing orderly receipts and account records. None of it showed what he wanted to see; blood, syringes, knives, or proof of purchase for spools of rope. But he hadn’t expected it to.
The unmade bed and sullied sink in the otherwise tidy house told him something. Nichole hadn’t come home last night. And judging from Madelyn Garrett’s accounting of the previous night and the stench of whisky inside, Jim Gallow was too out of control to do the work of the Field-Dresser.
After returning the last stack of receipts to their folder, Nathan closed the drawer and headed for the porch. The latex gloves snapped at the ends of his fingers. He pulled the door closed with the wad, shoved them into his pocket, and sat on the single step. His wingtips settled onto the rocks. Slipping his phone from the opposite pocket, he checked the time.
It wouldn’t be long now.
He clicked on the first waiting text. Dick wanted to know where the hell the car was. The corners of Nathan’s mouth quirked. Scrolling down, he read the second message. “I just walked six blocks in dress shoes, you sorry asshole.” A devious chuckle rumbled in his chest. Served him right for goosing Ms. Garrett on the ass. Not that she needed anyone to stick up for her. Hell, she’d practically bitten Dick’s hand off and given it back to him with a smile.
A car rumbled in the distance. His ears pricked and his heartbeat kicked into gear. Nathan stowed the phone and rested his forearms on his knees. Sure enough a silver Jeep with a dog head sticking out the passenger window eased into the driveway. Legs nearly as long as his own—but far more silky smooth from the looks of her tan white skin—unfolded from the vehicle. Flip-flops dangled from pretty pink toes until she dropped to the ground. A tank top and athletic shorts displayed a tight body.
An almost imperceptible nod told the anxious dog he’d have to stay. If it were possible, the beast frowned, but obediently sat on his haunches. She’d pulled her thick brown hair back from her face. The long ponytail swished as she marched toward him. He dutifully ignored he
r pointed lips. The darn things had mesmerized him earlier to the point of falling off the wall. He focused on the dark eyes that showcased her furry.
“Madelyn, we don’t have long before Jim Gallow gets off of work. So, I’ll be direct,” Nathan said before she could blast him. “What are you doing here?”
Her jaw fell open and her tongue toyed with a tooth at the back of her mouth. He’d seen the tactic many times, but always when someone struggled to rein the perfect words to put another in their place. “I’m here to look for my friend. Something you and your grab-ass partner—”
“He’s not my partner.”
“I’m glad to see you have some sense about you, but you don’t seem to have much in the way of finding Nichole.”
Talk about a kick in the goods. “How do you figure?”
“You sat—I’m sorry,” she said, raising a hand to the sky, “—stood in that meeting and asked one question. You didn’t even take notes. Who cares that a backwoods cop told you to sit and listen? Do you take orders from him?”
“Nichole wore a green sun dress with ruffles around the bodice, her favorite pearl earrings, and brown leather sandals last night.” He paused, making certain he had her attention before continuing. “You first met at the farmer’s market in front of the mango bin three days before you started work at the same school, and you became friends.”
That sexy mouth of hers formed an O. Her breath caught in the back of her slender throat.
About the time he decided to get pissed at her unwarranted accusations he noticed a well of tears gathering in her eyes. She bit her pretty lips and sucked a deep breath. And suddenly he saw what she hid behind all that anger. He saw her sadness.
“It wasn’t my interrogation. This isn’t my investigation. Not yet anyway. And I’m not going to stomp all over someone else’s jurisdiction. Not in front of their face, anyway.”
She scoffed and magical smile lines creased her face. He wanted to see her smile. This conversation wouldn’t manage that though.
“You’re not in the US or even a province of it. You’re already stomping on jurisdiction.”
For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1) Page 4