by Julie Miller
“No.”
“No?” With a slew of curious glances monitoring their progress, Dwight shifted directions and steered her toward the surveillance van, using the vehicle on one side and his superior stature on the other to hide her from prying eyes. “You should, at least, change your cell number so he can’t harass you again.”
“No!” Maddie shook her head, shook his hands off her and planted her feet. “Then Katie can’t call me. Dammit, Dwight, I’m tired of hiding and waiting. I’m tired of not being able to do a damn thing to help except baby-sit, pray and wait for the phone to ring.” She pointed to the bloodstained concrete at the rear of the van. “A man is dead. Katie might be next if we don’t find her in time.”
She frowned at the immovable force of his chest, made even broader by the tailored seams of his suit jacket stretching to accommodate his flexed arms and beefy hands propped at his waist. She lifted her gaze, pleading to those storm-cloud eyes for understanding. “I don’t care what Joe’s done in there. I can handle it. I need to handle it. If there’s something missing I can point out to the police or something that doesn’t belong, then I’m the only one who’d know it. If I can do anything to help, I have to.”
His chest and shoulders heaved in a massive sigh that stirred the air between them. “You done?”
Was he angry? Conceding? Even listening?
“I’m not leaving until I check the house,” she asserted, though much more softly than a moment before.
To her surprise, Dwight reached out and brushed aside a copper lock that had fallen across her forehead. “At Rinaldi’s trial, I had you pegged as this meek, mousy woman who needed a nudge to speak up for herself. But you’ve got grit, McCallister.” He made a face that made her wonder whether or not that was a compliment. “Hell, I expected you to be a lot more cooperative than this.”
Not a compliment.
“These aren’t times for meek and mousy. Katie and Tyler need a strong advocate right now. And since I’m all they’ve got, strong is the way I have to be.”
“No worries there.” A compliment, after all. There was nothing flowery or profound in Dwight’s words, but he talked about her strength as if he believed it to be a fact. Maddie finally felt a flicker of warmth deep inside, seeping outward to do battle with the chill that had surrounded her. “We’ll stay,” Dwight said, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar. “But I’m gonna be with you every step of the way.”
An obstinate urge to grin tilted the corners of her mouth. “I was staying, anyway.”
“You wish.” She almost glimpsed a line softening beside his mouth.
But before anything resembling a smile could form, a gravelly voice intruded. “Dwight?”
Dwight stepped aside to greet a tall man wearing a CSI vest. He was built on the lean side, and his most noticeable feature was the scarred, blind eye behind the gold frames of his glasses. “Mac Taylor.”
The two men shook hands like old friends. “What brings you out into the real world?” Mac asked.
“I prosecuted the murder conviction on Joe Rinaldi four years ago. I’d like to see him back where he belongs.”
“That was one of my men the ME just took away. Believe me, I’ll do everything I can to help.” The blond CSI looked from Maddie to Dwight and back again. Though his good eye sparkled with curiosity, he kept his questions to himself. “I’m Mac Taylor, KCPD Crime Lab. You must be Ms. McCallister?”
Maddie nodded.
Like Dwight, Mac seemed to have a habit of getting straight down to business. “There are fingerprints all over inside. I’m guessing most of them are Rinaldi’s. He didn’t make much effort to hide his tracks.”
“We already knew he was here,” said Maddie. “What’s to hide?”
Mac adjusted the strap of the camera hanging around his neck. “We’re going to need a set of your prints—to eliminate any of the strays we found. If either of the men who helped him escape was here, as well, we might be able to track down an ID.”
“My prints are already in the system.” She curled her fingers into her palms and tapped them against her thighs. “Take your pick. I’m a teacher in the public-school system, a foster parent…and you guys took my prints from another crime scene.”
The movement and conversations around her blurred as her thoughts skipped back in time. She’d known she was too late when she discovered Karen that awful morning. Still, she’d gotten down on her hands and knees and tried to resuscitate her sister’s lifeless body. She’d smeared Joe’s footprints in the blood and added her own fingerprints to the phone and doorknobs.
A hand, warm and unyielding, wrapped around the fist at her side, startling her back into the moment. Dwight. He stood beside her now, facing Mac. Holding her hand. Sharing some of his abundant strength. “Maddie’s sister was Rinaldi’s first victim.” He didn’t elaborate. “My prints will be in the house, too. Are we clear to go in and have a look around?”
Grateful that he’d refocused the conversation and her thoughts back to the task at hand, Maddie looked up to study the stern line of his jaw. She didn’t understand how his terse assertiveness and mysterious moods could frustrate her one minute, then touch her heart and make her feel extraordinarily safe the next. She wondered if Dwight’s personality was changing, or just her perception of it, as this search for a missing niece, an escaped murderer and lasting justice brought them closer together.
Mac’s gaze flickered over their joined hands before he nodded. “The house is clear if you want to go in. Beyond the mess, if you notice anything that seems out of place, let us know, okay?”
“Hey, Mac.” Cooper Bellamy had jumped down from the back of the van and circled around to join them. “The circuits in there are fried. Rinaldi really did a number on them.” He thumbed over his shoulder, indicating the equipment in the van. “Whatever we had recorded may have been damaged, as well.”
“We’ll take a look at it, see what we can salvage,” said Mac. “If there’s anything in the house you want to double-check, Detective, now’s the time.”
“Thanks.”
After Cooper trotted off to do his bidding, Mac switched his attention back to Dwight and Maddie. “I can tell you’re anxious to get in there. You two go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
DWIGHT FELT AN UNEASINESS he couldn’t quite put his finger on when Maddie pulled away and hurried up the porch steps behind Bellamy. She’d gotten that distant about-to-faint look when Mac mentioned fingerprints. As the color drained from her face, he’d obeyed the impulse to go to her before thinking of the consequences.
Before he realized how her cold hand would worry him. Before he admitted how the way her skin heated beneath his simplest touch fascinated him. He’d sensed her spirit reviving, her resolve getting stronger. He had to admire the unbeatable resiliency she possessed.
He’d seen the pictures of the crime scene she’d referred to, remembered the details vividly, since he’d used both photos and her eyewitness testimony to describe it to the jurors at Rinaldi’s trial. If she remembered that scene half as well as he did, then she’d drifted to a very ugly place in her head.
He’d have to watch himself. He was starting to think like a man around her. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was starting to feel things whenever Maddie was around. And feeling things for others had been his downfall once before. Because he’d felt too much, Arnie Sanchez had been able to manipulate him by attacking and destroying the things he cared about.
He could care about the investigation, care about Maddie as the victim of a crime. But he couldn’t afford to care about her.
Dwight moved out to follow her, but Mac’s hand on his arm stopped him. “It’s bad, Dwight. Rinaldi is one angry SOB. If she’s the sentimental type at all, it’ll be pretty tough in there.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. But Maddie’s pretty tough herself.” Where had that come from? First, he was holding hands, and now he was defending her? He just had to remember that she was a package deal—that she cam
e with a mad devotion to a teenage girl and her infant son—to douse any confusing emotions and stick to the business at hand. “Keep me posted on anything you find out.”
“Will do.”
Ten minutes later, Dwight was dealing with a whole new set of emotions. Namely anger. And, as his friend A.J. had reminded him three days ago, a driving need to ensure justice was served.
Maddie wasn’t weak, but she was clearly the underdog in this crazy game of terror and vengeance Rinaldi was playing. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in her quaint, old-fashioned home that hadn’t been tossed or cut or broken. Sofa cushions had been shredded, their stuffing strewn from wall to wall. Her coffee and end tables were marred by the round, distinctive burns of a cigarette. Her dining room and kitchen tables had gouges where Rinaldi had carved deep, destructive lines with a knife. Glasses were broken. Walls had been punched through. Chairs were overturned. The fridge and pantry doors had been opened and emptied out. Raw egg stuck to the tile above the stove and sink, and thawing meat bled across the vinyl floor.
“Was he looking for something?” Cooper speculated out loud.
“The only thing I see missing are some family photographs,” Maddie whispered, almost in a monotone, “and a few kitchen knives.”
Cooper recorded the information. The detective made a gentle inquiry about insurance and suggested the name of a cleaning service. But even his cocky tone had gone flat, indicating that the devastation was getting to him, too.
Thank God Maddie hadn’t been here or the KCPD might be investigating a double homicide. There were no written or recorded messages, but the hate was clear, the evidence of violence overwhelming and intimidating. It all felt very personal, very vindictive, very punishing.
Dwight inhaled deeply, squeezing his hands into fists to still the tremors pumping through his taut muscles. Walking through the destruction, he felt as if his territory had been violated. This shouldn’t happen in his city, his jurisdiction. It shouldn’t happen to this family, to this woman. He felt sick for her. He felt the need to do some damage to Rinaldi himself.
And all Maddie said was, “He must have been tearing up the place before he ever called me.”
Dwight wasn’t feeling quite so charitable. He made sure Cooper noted the home invasion in his report to MODOC and the commissioner, upgrading Rinaldi to an armed and extremely dangerous fugitive. And if he ever got that four-eyed freak in his courtroom again…
He forced aside his own thoughts of retribution as he followed Maddie up the stairs to inspect the second floor. Dammit, he was noticing details about her again. She was too stiff-backed. Too quiet. Even more so than she’d been on the witness stand four years ago. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, saddened or in shock. She’d worried her copper hair free from its ponytail, and her revealing skin alternately colored and went pale as they moved from room to room. Rinaldi’s handiwork was really getting to her, and that got to him.
But any suggestion of leaving was met with stony blue eyes and a pursed mouth that refused to either smile or speak.
The upstairs wasn’t quite as bad, making him think Rinaldi had started downstairs and worked his way up here before he’d called Maddie and she’d managed to notify the police. The bathroom hadn’t been touched. Katie’s room seemed intact, except for an empty baby album Maddie reported missing.
He shut his eyes and tried to walk past the nursery, but Maddie’s ragged words, “Mother’s rocker,” prompted him to look inside after she and Cooper had moved on. An antique walnut rocking chair had been mangled beyond repair, but everything else looked and smelled sweetly innocent. A pile of stuffed animals on the dresser reminded him of Braden’s tiger. And a border of stenciled alphabet letters made him think of the loving care and design that Alicia had…
“Dwight!”
Maddie’s strangled scream jerked him from the nightmarish trip down memory lane.
“Maddie?” Dwight ran down the hall to her bedroom. As soon as he cleared the doorway, she turned and launched herself against him.
“Oh, God, it’s awful,” she sobbed, sliding her arms beneath his jacket and burying her nose in his chest. “It’s awful.”
Surprised to feel her burrowing against him, Dwight was slow to wrap his arms around her shoulders. But his eyes scanned the bedroom with a ruthless intensity. It was a warm, homey room of antique lace and colorful embroidery, reminding him of the cool skin and fiery hair of the woman who slept here. But it was clean and tidy, except for the broken glass on the floor and dresser.
“What?” Cooper shrugged behind Maddie’s back, equally perplexed by her volatile reaction. “There’s just the broken picture frame. We saw worse downstairs. I don’t get it.”
Maddie shivered against him and linked her fingers behind his waist. “The flowers.”
Dwight quickly pinpointed the bouquet of red roses in a vase on the stand beside the bed. Had she finally cracked from the pressure of keeping the understandable grief and horror inside? He patted her back in an awkward effort to provide support without giving away his own confusion. “What’s so awful about the flowers?”
“You two have a fight?” Cooper asked.
Dwight glared the detective’s curiosity into silence. “They’re not from me.”
“Oh.”
A sob rubbed Maddie’s body against his, stirring something male and protective inside him. Dwight slid his right arm down around her waist and tunneled the fingers of his left hand into her hair, pulling her tighter, more securely into his embrace. Though his guard never relaxed, something inside him shifted to a calmer, more focused place. Maybe this was what he’d needed to do all along to ease his own guilty tension. He needed to shoulder some of the burden of this senseless attack from her.
He massaged his fingers against her scalp. “C’mon, Red. You have to talk to me.”
“They’re from Joe.”
Cooper walked over to the vase and looked around it without touching anything. “How do you know? There’s no note.”
“I just…know.”
Dwight let his hands slide to her elbows as she pushed some space between them and nervously toyed with a button on his shirt.
“It’s a message from Joe.”
Despite her stalwart expression, Dwight could feel her shaking. “Get Mac Taylor back up here.”
With a nod, the detective darted from the room. Maddie turned and stared at the roses as if she saw a man with a gun pointed to her head.
“Tell me,” Dwight urged.
“Joe never sent Karen flowers—not as an apology, not for their anniversary or her birthday. Never.” She swallowed hard. And when she started rubbing her arms for warmth, he came up behind her and took over the job himself. “He told Karen the only time he’d send her flowers was for funeral. The day before…” Her hand found his and squeezed. “He sent a dozen roses to the house. She was terrified. Without a single word, she knew it was a death threat. And then the next day, she was gone. He’d…There was so much blood. The same color as the roses.”
Son of a bitch. Rinaldi had some seriously twisted ways of terrorizing the women in his life. Dwight folded his arms around Maddie and pulled her back against his chest. He dipped his head and heard his own growly voice whispering in her ear. “I’ve seen the pictures. He is not going to get to you like that, I promise.”
“What if he gets to Katie instead? Or hurts someone else? What if the police never catch him?”
“One problem at a time, Red.” He threw his jacket around her shoulders and guided her to the door. “Will you let me take you home now? You’ll be safer there and I can start making some calls, pulling in some favors, so we can get this bastard off the streets.”
“We have to pick up Tyler first.”
He must have made a sound or flinched—something to betray his unwitting reaction to the kid’s name—because Maddie turned to block his path. Her eyes were dark with compassion, and the apology that crooked her mouth was as evident as the terror that had
lined her face a moment ago. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go. I can do it myself. I remembered this morning about your wife and son. I’m so sorry if having Tyler around reminds you of them. If Joe trying to hurt us reminds you of…what happened.”
“I’m not going to talk about that right now.” Not when he needed to concentrate on piecing together the details of Rinaldi’s plan and how he could best keep Maddie safe. He was still processing the aftershocks of holding her so tightly against him. He didn’t need to deal with pity right now, too. He stepped forward, hoping she’d take the hint and get moving.
But she braced her hands against his chest and nudged him back a step. “I know Tyler’s crying upset you last night. But he’s two weeks old. He’s gonna do that.”
“Can we go now?”
Short of knocking her over in the narrow hall, he had to stop and listen. “I’ll pick up Tyler on my own and meet you at your house. I still have to stop by the doctor’s office and get blood drawn for the DNA tests anyway.”
“No. Not by yourself.”
“When I’m done with that, I can talk to Cooper about setting up guards around here—”
“No.”
“Or moving us to a safe house so we aren’t such an imposition.”
Dwight grabbed her by the lapels and let her know he wasn’t budging on this. “You’re not going anywhere or doing anything on your own. Not after what Rinaldi’s done here. We’ll put the kid in my car.”
THE ELEPHANT WAS on her head again.
“Give her another dose.”
“No!” The ground beneath her shook. Wait. It was a bed. She was lying in a hospital bed. “If you keep doping her up and giving her stimulants without any consideration for her weight or body chemistry, you’ll risk brain damage. After that, even if she wants to talk to us, she might not remember anything. She’s coming around on her own. Just be patient.”