If Looks Could Kill

by Heather Graham

  “Ha!” Madison declared, but then she and Kaila both went down.

  They made tremendous splashes, and the kids demanded a rematch. Instead, Kyle set them up in the shallow end of the pool, Carrie Anne with baby Anthony on her shoulders, while Justin went into battle with Shelley on his own. Kyle helped both contestants balance and managed to let Shelley win, since she cared, and Anthony fall, since all he really wanted to do was create a big splash.

  Before they left, Madison tried to take her sister aside again, but it was tough—Kaila didn’t want to get taken aside. Madison finally managed to get a moment out by the car, as they were getting ready to leave. “Kaila, if something is going on, if you were almost involved with someone, please, tell me. Maybe I could help.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Kaila protested. “There…there wasn’t anyone.”

  “Okay, I’m not going to call you a liar,” Madison said quickly, seeing that Dan and Kyle were walking toward them. “But if you ever need to talk, if you ever need help, call me. Or Jassy. Or Dad!”

  “Oh, yeah, Dad! He still treats Jassy as if she were sixteen.”

  “And she ignores him. So don’t call Dad. Call me or Jassy.”

  “Of course, Madison.”

  “Honest?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Kyle was there then, along with Dan. Carrie Anne was already in the back seat, sound asleep. Madison and Kyle said good-night, Madison taking the driver’s seat, since she wasn’t sure just how many Guinnesses Kyle had consumed.

  But when they waved goodbye and started backing out, she caught a glimpse of Kyle’s eyes, and she realized he was stone-cold sober.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked him, smiling. “You were looking like a good old boy there for a while.”

  “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “Something is.”

  He shrugged. “Your brother-in-law asked me to look into something for him.”

  “What?”

  He glanced at her. “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “She didn’t say anything to you about…seeing someone?”

  Madison felt as if a cold sweat were breaking out on her forehead. “Kaila’s not having an affair.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I—Yes,” she lied. “Why?”

  He glanced into the back seat to make sure that Carrie Anne was still sleeping, then turned back to Madison. “Because someone sent her edible panties.”

  “What?” Madison asked incredulously.

  He nodded.

  “But how did—how did Dan know?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently Kaila thought he sent them. And she wore them for him.”

  “Well, then…” Madison trailed to a stop. “Obviously, if she wore them for Dan, then she isn’t having an affair. Some prankster must have sent them—”

  “Well, we’ll find out,” Kyle said casually.

  Madison frowned. “Kyle, why would you want to do anything that might jeopardize Kaila’s marriage?” she asked nervously.

  Kyle shook his head. “You’re forgetting something.”

  “What?”

  “Your sister is a redhead. If some prankster is sending her things, I want to know just who the hell it is.”

  “But, Kyle, it could be—”

  “Damn it, Madison, she can work on her marriage after we finish worrying about her life!” he said firmly.

  Madison fell silent for a minute. “Give me a chance to talk to her, okay?”

  “All right.”

  “All right.”

  “Tomorrow,” Kyle said. “At my father’s gallery opening. You know she’ll be there.”

  “Right.”

  “Madison?”

  “Yes?”

  “If she doesn’t talk to you, I will use every investigative avenue available to me to find out how your sister managed to get such a gift.”

  Madison pulled the car into her driveway. Kyle carefully lifted Carrie Anne from the back seat and carried her to the house while Madison opened the door and punched in the numbers on the alarm pad.

  Kyle took Carrie Anne on into her room, where Madison thanked him. He left, as Madison got ready to change Carrie Anne into a nightgown.

  Madison thought he might be waiting for her in the kitchen or the living room, but he wasn’t. She hesitated, then went to the guest room door and tapped lightly.

  “Yes?”

  She opened the door. He was at the computer. “Sorry. Just wanted to say good-night.”

  “Good night, Madison.”

  She nodded and closed the door.

  Well, so much for him dying of desire for her.

  She went to bed herself, certain she would lie awake or, worse, that she would fall asleep—and dream.

  She did. In her dream, she was driving. It was her, and this time she knew it was her, not some other woman. She was driving hard and fast, almost recklessly.

  She was driving down the Tamiami Trail, far west, out of the city of Miami. There were old dirt roads out here. Some were roads that cut into the swamp, across canals and marshes, ending nowhere. Some were roads that headed toward the old shacks that remained hidden deep in the pine hammocks.

  She was driving in a panic, trying to get somewhere. Somewhere she knew. From a different life, she thought.

  Or from a time when she had been very young.

  She shouldn’t be going, but she couldn’t turn back.

  She had to get…somewhere. It was like the time when she had come out of her bedroom. When she had known that she had to reach her mother. She had to move, move swiftly, because if she didn’t…

  Oh, God, if she didn’t…

  Someone else was going to die. Someone else she loved. Oh, God, she had to floor it, floor it, drive….

  “Madison, shh, Madison, it’s all right….”

  Kyle was there. He’d gotten into the bed beside her, taken her into his arms. Now he was soothing her, running his fingers through her hair. “I’m here. It’s all right.”

  She shivered fiercely. He held her close.

  “What was it this time?”

  “I was driving again. I was driving down the Tamiami Trail. I had to get somewhere really fast, and I was desperate, because if I didn’t get where I was going, something awful was going to happen. I was trying to reach…one of the shacks. Remember the shacks, Kyle? When were young, Roger and my dad used to have them, until the government cracked down on the Everglades. Men used to go out there hunting, but they usually just got drunk and shot up beer cans. Your dad must have taken you out there.”

  “Yes, he did. They used to get so tanked up, it’s probably a miracle that the only things that ever got killed out there were beer cans.”

  She smiled, then groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Am I ever going to stop dreaming?”

  “Madison,” he said, gently lifting her face to meet her eyes. “Those shacks were all torn down years ago. It’s a new world. The environmentalists hate guys who shoot beer cans.”

  She half smiled, and he grazed her cheek with his knuckles. He was so close, but his arms drew her closer. She had been shivering; his strength warmed away the cold of fear. He was wearing only a robe. Temptation ruled. She slipped her fingers into the opening of the robe, running them along his chest. Lower. Her fingers brushed, then covered, the length of his erection, sending a fierce shudder throughout her. She stroked him beneath the robe, her lips coming closer to his. But he drew away suddenly, whispering softly, “The door.”

  Carrie Anne was in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “Mommy, you were screaming again.”

  Madison instinctively jerked away from Kyle. Loosely belting his robe, he rose, walking toward the doorway. He tousled Carrie Anne’s hair. “Well, you’re here now. You go snuggle Mommy, huh?”

  “You can stay,” Carrie Anne said politely.

  He glanced over at Madison.

  “I think I’ll take a shower,�
� he said pleasantly. “You girls get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day. My dad’s gallery opening.”

  Plagued with guilt, Madison welcomed Carrie Anne into her arms.

  And tried to sleep.

  15

  “This just isn’t working,” she told Kyle over coffee in the morning.

  “Oh?”

  She flushed. “You haven’t done anything. It’s just…not working.”

  “This isn’t about the delicacy of anybody’s feelings—yours, mine, or even Carrie Anne’s. You’re in danger.”

  “We don’t know that!”

  “It’s a damned good theory.”

  “But, Kyle—”

  “You can’t be alone.”

  “I’ll go to Jassy’s. She can shoot like a pro.”

  “She’s never home.”

  “I can go to my father’s.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” he said, looking at his coffee.

  Madison gasped. “You’re accusing my father—”

  “I know that your father and mother had a huge fight not long before she was killed. You didn’t see it, because you were at school. I happened to be home, for some reason. She’d summoned Jordan to the house, crying over something my father had supposedly done, and trying to use Jordan to get my father riled. To his credit, Jordan wouldn’t be used.”

  “Right! So he came back later to murder her! You’re full of it! What about your father? He and my mother fought all the time, and I know that for a fact, because I had to listen to it just about every damned night!”

  “Fine, my father is a suspect, too.”

  She threw up her hands. “Well, we can’t keep doing this! It isn’t working. What about Kaila’s?”

  “Do you really think Kaila needs someone else living in her house right now?”

  “Darryl, then. I’m the mother of his child, for God’s sake.”

  “Great. Then Darryl can soothe you from your dreams in the middle of the night.”

  “It would probably sit better with Carrie Anne,” Madison murmured.

  He rose, angrily walking to the sink. “Can we solve this later? I can sleep in the damned car or something, but right now I’ve got to get to the gallery. This event is important to my father. And you’re coming with me.”

  She arched a brow, feeling her temper stirring. “I am coming with you, but not because you say so. I’m coming with you because Roger has always been good to me, and what’s important to him is important to me!”

  She spun around, leaving him in the kitchen and going off to get dressed. The opening was scheduled to run from two o’clock until ten; they arrived by twelve. Madison’s job was to keep the local artists—the stars of the event—calm. For some of them that meant two tons of caffeine. For others, it meant breaking into the champagne early.

  Roger was delighted that she had arrived early with Kyle. After escaping the crowd around him, he took her hands, then stepped back, surveying her. “Gorgeous! They compare you to your mother. Rubbish. You’re ten times more beautiful!” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming and helping. Your dad’s right over there.” He looked at her assessingly again. “You are dynamite.”

  She hoped so. She’d dressed dramatically, in a short black silk cocktail dress that dipped in front and back, and contrasted with the vivid color of her hair. “Thanks,” she told him.

  “You’re kind of pretty, too, son!” Roger teased Kyle. He wasn’t pretty in the least. He was striking, in a black shirt with a casual pinstripe jacket and beige pants.

  “Ah, Dad!” he murmured.

  “Enough. To work!” Roger told them all.

  By five o’clock, Madison was beat. She’d been taking care of the kids for the past hour. The gallery boasted a kids’ corner, little tables with little chairs and buckets full of building blocks, crayons, stencils and so on. Kids could express their artistic vision while their parents, in Roger’s words, spent “big bucks” on local talent.

  She sank into one of the kiddie chairs, tired and bemused. By her side, Carrie Anne and Kaila’s brood were busy doodling with a pair of five-year-old twins. Jimmy Gates was nearby, listening patiently as one of the artists explained the “surrealism” of her work. Dan and Kaila were inspecting a beautiful seascape. Madison frowned slightly. She was worried about Kaila again. Her sister seemed nervous. She kept looking over her shoulder as if she expected…what?

  “Watch it! Watch it!” she heard suddenly.

  She turned to see that Rafe, Trent and Kyle were carefully lifting a metal fountain sculpture of goddesses in a garden. The artist and purchaser were worriedly giving directions, along with Roger. The scene, Madison thought, was priceless.

  “Hey, Jassy!”

  “What?”

  “Take over the kids, huh?”

  “Sure.”

  Madison rose and wandered to the front of the gallery to observe the goings-on with the sculpture.

  “Hey! Watch Athena’s book there!” she warned.

  “Thanks!” Trent told her, making a face.

  “Got it!” Rafe assured her, grimacing.

  Kyle arched a brow at her.

  She smiled, following them to the doorway, then leaning against it as they struggled to get the sculpture onto the bed of its new owner’s truck.

  She closed her eyes for a minute. It was late spring, but the past few days had been hot as hell, and the breeze picking up this evening was beautiful. She opened her eyes and looked around. The gallery was situated just down the street from Cocowalk and Mayfair, two very unique malls. The area was also littered with charming specialty shops. The Coconut Grove area of Miami was popular with both the locals and tourists. Roger’s gallery should do well.

  “You!”

  She didn’t pay any attention to the voice at first; she was busy enjoying the breeze. And Coconut Grove had its share of crazies, after all, most of them harmless.

  “You!”

  She turned then—and stared, stunned and incredulous.

  There was Harry Nore. Bug-eyed, wild gray hair completely unkempt, unshaven face covered with a scraggly beard. He looked as mad as he had all those years ago, when he preened excitedly for the television cameras after Lainie’s murder. Despite the heat, he was wearing a dirty old once-beige trenchcoat. And he was pointing at her—with the razor-sharp end of a switchblade.

  “You! She-devil, she-bitch, spawn of Satan, seducer of innocents! You’ve come back. You’ve come back from the very bowels of hell! You’ve come back from the dead, like Satan’s own, but Satan will have to take you back to hell, and you’ll burn! You’ll burn!”

  The last was a screech, and with it, he catapulted toward Madison. She jumped back, slamming against the doorframe. He lunged again, and she was forced back again. She heard a crack. She had slammed against the gallery’s big front window, and now she was losing her footing, sinking to the ground. She couldn’t fall, couldn’t let herself become vulnerable, but she couldn’t regain her balance, either. She had to fight, or at least get away.

  But even as she looked up into Nore’s hideously contorted face and saw him so close that she could count every rotting tooth, she heard another hard slam.

  Kyle had brought him down to the pavement.

  Then pandemonium broke out. Trent landed on top of Nore, as well, as people came spilling from the gallery.

  Suddenly Rafe was at Madison’s side. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, her mouth and throat dry. Jassy was there, ducking down beside her.

  Madison grasped her sister’s hands. “Get Dan. Have him take Kaila and the kids out the back. Please, I don’t want Carrie Anne to see, to be afraid, please….”

  “Stay with her,” Rafe told Jassy. “I’ll see to it that Dan and Kaila take Carrie Anne home with them for the night. The cops will be here soon. You’ll have to talk to them, Madison.”

  “The cops are already here,” a voice said. Jimmy. He, too, was kneeling beside Madison. “You okay, kid?”

&n
bsp; She nodded.

  “You’ve done something to your wrist, breaking your fall. Your hand is swollen.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You need some X rays.”

  “The cops—”

  “We can talk at the hospital,” Jimmy said.

  Sirens were screaming everywhere. The next thing Madison knew, her father was with her. She’d never seen him look so white, so tense.

  So old.

  “The ambulance is here.”

  “Dad, my wrist is swollen! I can walk, I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Right. But it’s here, so get in it anyway.”

  Within the hour, her wrist and hand had been x-rayed. She was fine; she’d just sprained it, and an elastic bandage for a few days would make her right as rain.

  As if everything that had already happened weren’t enough, she wasn’t even going to get to meet Darryl’s new girlfriend. And she’d ruined Roger’s opening. Talk about your basic day from hell…

  When the nurse finished with her bandage, she returned to the waiting room. Her father, Roger, Jimmy, Jassy and Kyle were there, along with a young police officer. She gave him a brief statement, assuring him that she hadn’t seen or heard from Harry Nore since her mother’s death. He didn’t need much from her; there had been witnesses to the attack.

  “There are a bunch of reporters outside,” Jassy warned her unhappily.

  “I’ll take the Cherokee around back and pick Madison up at a different door,” Kyle said determinedly.

  “That sounds good,” Jordan Adair agreed. He kissed Madison on the cheek. “And stay with her,” he cautioned, turning back to Kyle.

  “I intend to,” Kyle said, leaving.

  Madison could see through the glass hospital doors that a group of reporters were milling outside. Did this mean that it was over? Had Harry Nore been killing women now, and had he really killed her mother all those years ago?

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Jassy said.

  She almost shoved Madison out the back. Kyle had the car running and the passenger door open. She slipped quickly inside.

  He started driving in silence. He looked ashen, she realized, and his jacket was torn and dirtied from his tussle with Harry Nore.