With Every Breath

by Beverly Bird

  He stepped into the hallway just as she came down it, carrying Josh.

  "Give me a minute," she said quietly.

  Joe nodded.

  She took the boy into his bedroom, and Joe went back to the kitchen. He peered into cupboards until he found the bottle of wine and one of vodka. He held them in each hand, studying them, and finally put the wine back.

  He made them each a drink and took them to the living room, never once considering that he was settling in awfully comfortably. His boots were sodden, too, and he unlaced them, peeling out of his socks. He took everything to the heating vent in the kitchen in the halfhearted hope that it would dry them sometime soon.

  As he passed the hallway again, he heard her singing.

  "Dance, little baby, dance up high. Never mind, baby, your buddy is by. Crow and caper, caper and crow, there, little baby, there you go!"

  Joe stopped, scowling. A nursery rhyme. He supposed that given the fright the kid had had, Josh wasn’t too old for it. Still. ..

  She stopped before he could put his finger on what bothered him about the song. It was vaguely familiar to him. Vaguely. Neither of his parents had been the nursery-rhyme type. His father was a retired philosophy professor from the University of Maine, above such things. His mother was a transplanted island girl, living happily in Atlanta, and she was witty, lovable, vibrant. But motherhood had never especially been her forte. Ozzie and Harriet, he thought, they weren’t.

  Still, he got the feeling that the words to that song weren’t quite right.

  By the time Maddie came out of Josh’s bedroom, he had forgotten about it. He handed her the drink he had

  made. It was watered down by then, but she took it anyway, and something in her eyes looked surprised, then they warmed over with gratitude.

  It made the shifting sensation hurt inside him again for a moment.

  "Thanks," she managed. She drank deeply, with her eyes closed.

  "So who did it?" he asked bluntly.

  She sat down on the sofa. He moved to take a seat as well, careful not to get too close.

  Maddie felt him anyway. He was damp, barefoot, big, not quite relaxed. She cleared her throat.

  "You tell me," she managed. "You’re the cop."

  Joe thought about it. This was just too weird, he decided.

  "Gina?" she suggested. "Is she ... I don’t know, jealous? Because she thinks you’re sniffing?" And then she realized that she was grasping at straws. She was hoping, praying, that it was someone else, anyone but Rick, that her suspicions were purely paranoia.

  Joe shrugged, but she saw pain on his face. Maddie was surprised. "Is that a yes?" she demanded. "As in, Gina could have done it?"

  "It’s possible," he said roughly, vaguely, sitting again.

  Maddie swallowed carefully. "Or what about Cassie Diehl?" she asked, grasping for all she was worth.

  Joe shook his head. "It’s not her style. She’s mean. She’s not cruel." And he let it go at that, because he knew this woman would understand the difference.

  "Angus?" She whispered another suggestion, instinctually not believing it, not wanting to believe it. She was relieved when Joe shook his head even harder.

  "No. Angus is harmless."

  "He didn’t like the kitten," she persisted anyway. "He seemed afraid of it."

  His blue eyes pinned her, as she had almost known they would have to do sooner or later. "You don’t think it was any of them," he said finally, "or you wouldn’t have come unglued."

  She looked away from him. "I came unglued because of what it will do to Josh."

  "Bullshit."

  She looked back at him, some temper finally sparking in her eyes. "No, it’s not. That’s what upset me the most."

  "So what upset you second-most?" he demanded. "That maybe his father has found us."

  Joe felt a kick in his chest. It didn’t escape him that she referred to the man as her boy’s father, not as her husband, or even her ex-husband. So there was very bad blood there, maybe even worse than between him and Gina.

  "Let’s hear it," he said shortly. "Why would that occur to you? Give me the nitty-gritty details underneath all the rumors that Gina started last night."

  Maddie told him quickly, her words lacking all inflection, giving him the most rudimentary details. She told him about the Marlins game in Atlanta, and how she had known something was wrong. She told him about the cop going down, and that Josh had seen it. Joe launched himself off the sofa.

  "Ah, Jesus," he muttered after a moment. "Jesus Christ. Suffer the children, the innocents."

  "I don’t believe he could have found us yet!" she burst out suddenly.

  Joe looked at her sharply. "Yet? Yet? So he’s going to look? What—he’s going to come here and try to gun you down?"

  Leslie had been right, and they both realized it in the same moment. He was an extremely unhappy lawman.

  Maddie popped off the sofa. "Don’t yell at me."

  He lowered his voice, but it was just as menacing. "So why exactly would this guy go from shooting cops to killing kittens?"

  Maddie shrugged and paced halfheartedly. "Rick hated cats."

  "So do I, but I don’t run around killing the goddamned things!"

  "You don’t kill cops, either," she snapped. "And you don’t stalk Gina."

  Gina, Joe thought. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and thought about her again for a minute. Then he thought of a worried killer wanting badly to scare Maddie into going home.

  "He cut the phone line," she almost whispered. "What?" Joe looked at her, startled.

  "My phone is out of order. I thought it was the storm, but..."

  Joe’s blood went to jagged, crunching ice. "You didn’t open your door and find the cat there," he said slowly. "You went out someplace and came home and there it was."

  Maddie felt the intensity in his voice. "I thought I mentioned that."

  "No. Someone cut your phone line—"

  "I don’t know that," she protested. "The phone’s dead. Maybe it’s the storm."

  "Or maybe somebody cut the goddamned thing!" "Maybe," she allowed shakily. "Don’t yell at me!"

  "I’m a yelling type of guy when I’m upset," he bit out. "And under that scenario, assuming your phone’s not out because of the storm, then I’ve got to think that maybe somebody cut it so that you couldn’t call for help. Maybe somebody cut it with the goddamned idea that they were then going to come in here and hurt you.

  Except you took off. You went out before he could get in here, when any sensible woman would stay home because of the goddamned storm."

  "Stop swearing at me, Joe." Maddie stiffened, but her heart was lurching again.

  "So whoever it was killed the cat out of anger and frustration because it was here and you weren’t, because you slid through his or her fingers like so much sand."

  "I don’t—" she began.

  "And that’s not Gina. It’s not Cassie. It’s not Angus." Maddie blanched. "But I haven’t been here long enough for Rick to find me again!"

  "Again?"

  "He was stalking me," she whispered. "In Fort Lauderdale."

  Stalking? He realized that she had mentioned that a moment ago, but he had been too preoccupied to latch on to it. As for Fort Lauderdale, well, Joe thought, that answered one more question.

  "I never moved before," she went on, "so it wasn’t like he was following me around the country, but he would kind of... lurk ... wherever I went."

  "Lurk," Joe repeated grimly. "Oh, that’s just goddamned beautiful."

  Maddie shrugged helplessly.

  "Wait here."

  He went into the kitchen. When he came back, he had his coat. "Where you going?" she cried, alarmed.

  "Outside to look at the phone line." He wrenched open the front door.

  "You’re barefoot!"

  "So?"

  "So it’s cold and it’s raining!"

  His blue eyes widened. She wasn’t sure if he looked bemused or amazed. "I’m a big
boy. I can handle it."

  Her throat closed. "I. .. noticed that, actually."

  His face went surprised, then something in his eyes heated. "Good," he said quietly.

  He went outside, and she thought that he had said that single word much differently than he had last night, when he’d declared himself pleased that she didn’t think he was sniffing.

  Maddie followed him out the door. She stayed close to the house, but the rain still dashed at her. He disappeared around the comer of the deck, getting swallowed in the darkness.

  Her heart skipped and nervousness took over its beat. She waited for him to return, hugging herself, then she went back inside to check on Josh. He was still sleeping soundly.

  It could be Gina, she thought. Jealousy was a powerful thing. And Leslie had said the woman still needed help, presumably for her drinking, which had been thoroughly obvious during the short time Maddie had spent with her last night. Jealousy and liquor, she thought. A lethal combination. Certainly it could lead to a kitten’s demise.

  She almost jumped clear out of her skin when Joe came back. He threw the door open hard enough to make it crack back against the wall.

  "It’s cut," he said flatly.

  Maddie moved back to the sofa and sat down unsteadily. "So," she whispered. Terror gripped her, making her shake, along with a feeling of nausea. Even she had to admit that it didn’t sound like the work of a jealous ex-wife.

  Joe sat beside her. He rubbed his hands over his face. She thought that he needed a shave. It made him look more rough, more chiseled, more dangerous than usual.

  She was suddenly glad that he was on her side.

  "I just can’t see Gina running around cutting phone lines," he said finally, echoing her thoughts. It was too subtle, he thought, too . . . anonymous. Gina almost always left some sort of calling card.

  "Then Rick knows I’m here," she said hollowly.

  Well, Joe thought, there was one other scenario, but he wasn't quite ready to address it yet, not until he eliminated a few other possibilities. He got up and went to the kitchen to collect his shoes and socks.

  "Thank you," she said quietly.

  He glowered at her. "For what? I didn’t do anything yet."

  "You took care of No-Name."

  "Oh." He thought about that, nodded, and finished tying his shoes. He went to the door.

  "Where ... where is he?"

  "The cat? In a shallow grave about ten feet off the right comer of the back deck. I’ll stop by tomorrow when the storm’s past and fix it so that the gulls can’t get to him. They’re scavengers."

  She shuddered. She hadn’t thought of that.

  "Maddie ..." he began. She looked up at him, doeeyed and trusting.

  Don’t trust me, Jesus Christ, don’t trust me like that. He thought of Lucy, who had definitely trusted him, who had worshiped the ground he walked on, and something slammed into him with impossible force. He forgot what he had been about to say, and then he said the wrong thing.

  "Maybe you ought to give some thought to leaving here."

  "Leaving?" She looked at him blankly. "What good would that do? If it’s Rick, if he’s found me here, then he’ll find me wherever I go!" Her eyes filled with that hunted-animal look again. "Is that what you want?" she demanded suddenly. "If he finds us, okay, just as long as he doesn’t do it on your island?"

  "I didn’t mean—"

  "Leslie said you didn’t want trouble here!" She was being unreasonable, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself.

  So that was how his name had come up, Joe thought. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. And he couldn’t tell her what he had meant, he realized, not without opening a whole new can of worms, and he just wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.

  "I’m going to check on Gina," he said flatly. "Then I’ve got a live wire down at the south end to look in on. Then I’m going to call the phone company, but I don’t think they’ll be able to get out here and fix you up until Monday. In the meantime, lock your doors."

  "No kidding, Sherlock," she muttered.

  He was stung, then surprised. A hoarse, aborted chuckle rumbled from his throat. "You know what I mean. Just be careful. I’m going to leave some flares here, too. If there’s trouble, or if anything suspicious happens, then start shooting them off the back deck." "What good will that do?"

  "The island’s only four and a half miles long, including The Wick. In lieu of a phone call, it’ll get me back up here in a hurry."

  Her heart started moving with fear again. But there was no help for it. He could hardly stay there all night, she reasoned. Every night. Until this was settled.

  In the end, she was still, as always, on her own. "Hector’s about as useless as tits on a bull," he went on, almost muttering to himself, "and he’s on shift until midnight. But then Kenny Halverson comes in. One way or another, we’ll keep an eye on you, keep you covered." "Thank you."

  "It’s what I get paid for." And he wished to God that it felt as simple as that.

  She watched him go to the Pathfinder, jogging through the pelting rain. Then he came back and handed her a handful of flares, made sure she had matches, and returned to the truck. She watched his taillights disappear.

  It wasn’t until after he was gone, until she was alone, that the full enormity of the whole thing hit her. She curled up on the sofa, feeling helpless and overwhelmed.

  Sweet God in heaven, Rick had found them.

  No, she thought. No. She shook her head hard. She refused to succumb to that again ... the paranoia, the terror, seeing him in every shadow. She wouldn’t go through it again, not until she had proof.

  Then she had another thought, a half-remembered quip that she’d read somewhere once and been amused by. It ain’t paranoia if the bastards really are watching.

  Chapter 11

  Joe didn’t bother to go down to the power line. As he left Gina’s condo he heard the MP&E chopper overhead. It was headed west, toward the mainland, so he figured everything was taken care of.

  Gina hadn’t been playing pranks on Maddie Brogan.

  He could be wrong, but he didn’t think so. His gut instinct told him that her denials were real. And Cassie probably hadn’t done it, either, because Gina would almost certainly have known if she had. His ex-wife’s surprise had been genuine—he got the feeling that she wished one of them had thought of trying to scare Maddie off the island.

  He swung into the city lot and went inside the station. "Where’s Hector?" he demanded of Lou Paul, who was at the front desk.

  "Driving around."

  "Buzz in on him and tell him to run around The Wick every fifteen minutes or so."

  "The Wick," Lou repeated blankly.

  "Yeah. That goddamn lump of land just to the north of us." He started to slam his office door.

  "Why?" Lou asked. "What’s he supposed to be looking for?"

  "Anything that moves."

  Joe wondered if he was overreacting. It was just a

  cat.

  Nah, he decided. Not when it was Madeline Brogan’s cat. Not under the circumstances, and there were most assuredly a lot of circumstances.

  He sat down at his desk. He knew there was precious little he could do about any of this tonight. But nervous energy was singing through him, and going home, trying to sleep, would be a waste of time. He picked up the phone and called the emergency number of the telephone company. He got a recording and left a message.

  Next he tried to raise someone in Fort Lauderdale. It was time to stop fumbling around with this situation like a small-town cop, he thought. Except, of course, he was a small-town cop, and he had only just found out how very much he had to worry about.

  Process of elimination, he decided. He’d satisfied himself that it wasn’t Gina; next he would prove that it wasn’t Maddie’s ex-husband. And then he’d have one nasty mess on his hands, a case so old nobody was likely to find any answers.

  He got a desk sergeant in Florida, who gave him t
o a lieutenant, who passed him on to the duty captain, a guy named Goldwell, who sounded like he possessed some semblance of authority. Joe identified himself.

  "Listen, I’m trying to get some information on a situation you had down there a short time ago," he said finally, then he paused. He didn’t know the guy’s last name. Maddie was still using Brogan. Ah, well, this case wasn’t likely to be forgotten in a hurry.

  "A guy killed one of your cops," he finished.

  "Ronnie Sanchez," came the immediate reply.

  "That’s the guy?" She’d said his name was Rick. He was sure of it.

  "That’s the cop. The guy’s name is Graycie." There was a pause on that end of the line. "You got him? Where’d you say you were calling from?"

  "Candle Island, Maine. And I might."

  "You must have something going on. One of your guys just called me yesterday. You want to tell me what’s happening up there?"

  "One of my guys?" Joe was dumbfounded, then careful. "Yesterday?"

  "Wait a minute. Let me call up the file." There was another short spell of quiet. "Steve Singleton."

  Joe felt a headache starting. He didn’t have a Steve Singleton.

  "Candle Island PD," Joe repeated carefully.

  "Yeah."

  He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again slowly. When in doubt, he thought, say nothing—or at least say as little as possible.

  "What was he looking for?" he asked cautiously. "General info on what we got on Graycie."

  Joe grunted and sat back in his chair. A little talk with his staff was definitely in order when everybody was in on Monday morning. Someone was a little too interested in Maddie Brogan and her cop-killing ex-husband.

  His head was pounding. He didn’t need this. He’d successfully avoided this kind of crap for twelve years. Steve Singleton?

  "You still there?" Goldwell asked.

  "Yeah," Joe answered slowly. "I’m here."

  "What is it you need to know?"