by LENA DIAZ,
That thought pounded at her like a drumbeat, as though a hand were squeezing her heart and pressing against her lungs.
It shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t matter that he lived so close. It shouldn’t matter that she could run into him at the grocery store, or pass him on the street. It shouldn’t matter that she could reach out right now and run her fingers across his golden skin.
It shouldn’t matter, none of it.
But, damn it, it did.
She cleared her throat, twice, before she trusted her voice again. “How long have you been here?”
The EMT flicked a glance at her and set the gauze down. “You can lower your arms now, Agent Buchanan.”
Pierce eased his arms down, watching her with a wary expression on his face. “A couple of months.”
Two months? He hadn’t bothered to mention that he’d moved when he’d seen her at her brother’s wedding. She hadn’t told him she’d moved either, but then she’d had no desire to talk to him since he was so busy with the ridiculously young, beautiful redhead he’d brought as his date.
She’d probably missed her curfew to hang out with him at the wedding reception.
But Logan must have known that Pierce had moved to Savannah. Pierce was like the brother Logan had never had, especially after everything they’d been through last year saving Amanda from a serial killer. And he wouldn’t have asked Pierce to check on her if Pierce was hours away in Jacksonville.
“Logan knows you live here, doesn’t he?” She didn’t bother to wait for his reply. She already knew the answer. “He should have told me, before he talked me into buying a house here. You should have told me.”
“What difference would it have made if you’d known?” he asked. His brows drew down in a dark slash. “Would you have run away again?”
She blinked at his well-aimed barb and took a step back. She wished she could step back from the truth just as easily. He was right. She had run away from him.
But not for the reason she’d told him.
“Mrs. McKinley?” a voice called out from behind her.
Startled, she whirled around, and stumbled against the curb.
“Whoa, there.” The policeman who’d spoken to her grabbed her elbow, steadying her. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
She grimaced when she put some weight on her ankle.
“Let’s have the EMT check that.”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
The policeman gave her a skeptical look. “If you’re sure, I’m supposed to escort you to the station. Lieutenant Hamilton wants to question you some more. And you’ll have more privacy away from this crowd.” He nodded toward the curious onlookers behind the police line. “Is there someone you want me to call to meet you there? Your husband?”
“There’s no one to call. My family doesn’t live around here. And my husband is . . . dead.”
Madison tried to put weight on her bad ankle again, but as soon as she did, a sharp pain shot up her leg and she had to grab the policeman’s arm for support.
“Get into the ambulance, Madison.” Pierce scooted over on the gurney to make room. “The police can question you later.”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to be secluded in the back of the ambulance with Pierce, especially a curious Pierce who might barrage her with questions all the way to the hospital.
Then again, she could use the opportunity to try to convince him not to tell Logan what had happened. If the gunman was who she thought he was, the life she’d tried to build for the past year and a half was about to come crashing down. She needed some time to figure out what to do and how to protect her family.
She took a wobbly step forward and grabbed one of the metal handles by the ambulance door.
The EMT opened his mouth as if to protest, but promptly closed it when Madison stared at him in challenge. She hauled herself inside and plopped down on the bench across from Pierce. The EMT spoke through the glass window to the other EMT driving the ambulance, then pulled one of the doors shut.
“Just a minute,” the policemen called out, stopping him before he could close the other door. “Agent Buchanan, the lieutenant wanted me to let you know that he called your boss, like you asked. Agent Matthews said he’ll meet you at the hospital with your fiancée.”
Chapter Two
PIERCE GRIPPED THE edge of the emergency room examining table he was sitting on. Seeing Madison again, seeing her at the wrong end of a gun, had been a punch in the gut that still had him reeling. When she’d bent over him as he lay on the street after getting shot, the concern and fear in her deep blue eyes had him wanting to reach up and hold her, to pull her close. He’d wanted to bury his hands in her thick hair and breathe in the scent of jasmine that always clung to her soft skin.
But then his brain had kicked in, and he remembered the way things had ended between them. And he knew that look of concern was the same look she’d give anyone if they were hurt. It certainly wasn’t because she cared about him.
He looked over at the green curtain where a nurse had taken Madison over half an hour ago. Why had her face turned so pale when she heard he had a fiancée? Madison was the one who’d broken up with him. Why would she care if he’d moved on?
“Agent Buchanan.”
He reluctantly turned back toward the young doctor who’d just stitched him up. Too young. Probably some boy genius who’d graduated from high school when he was thirteen. A boy genius who’d already taken far too much of his time. He needed to wrap up the case he was working on, and he still had a dozen questions to ask Madison about the shooting this morning.
Like why she’d begged him not to tell Logan what had happened.
“If you won’t allow us to take X-rays, you’ll have to sign a form acknowledging you’re refusing treatment against medical advice.”
“My ribs aren’t broken. X-rays are a waste of time.”
“You have a medical degree and forgot to mention it?” The doctor grinned at his own joke.
Pierce narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have a medical degree, but I’m pretty damned good with a gun.”
Boy genius made a choking sound in his throat.
“I’m sure Special Agent Buchanan will be happy to undergo any tests you think are necessary.” Pierce’s new boss, and longtime friend, stood in the curtained doorway.
Pierce shook his head in defeat. So much for questioning Madison without any more delays.
“Supervisory Special Agent Casey Matthews.” His boss stepped forward to shake the doctor’s hand. Then he held the curtain back. “And this lovely lady is his fiancée, Tessa James. I assure you, Doctor, Special Agent Buchanan will cooperate.”
The doctor enthusiastically pumped Casey’s hand. “I appreciate your help. He’s been fighting to leave from the moment he got here.” He gave Pierce a smug grin.
Pierce stared at him until his smile disappeared. The kid was so easy to intimidate; he almost felt guilty.
Boy genius’s wide-eyed gaze darted around the room. “Someone will be back in a few minutes to take you to radiology.” He turned and fled.
“Did you enjoy flustering that boy?” Tessa stepped to the examining table and clicked her red nails on the shiny stainless steel surface.
“He was wasting my time.” Pierce flattened his palms against the table to hop down, but Casey blocked his way.
“You haven’t been X-rayed yet,” Casey reminded him.
“I need to talk to Madison.”
“The woman involved in the shooting?” Tessa asked.
He nodded.
“Lieutenant Hamilton was leaving with her when we walked into the ER.”
A feeling of dread curled inside Pierce. He hadn’t missed the suspicious glances Hamilton had aimed at Madison earlier. The lieutenant thought she was hiding something.
So did Pierce.
But he didn’t like the idea of her in the high-pressure atmosphere of an interrogation room. Not because she’d be scared—just the opposite. Her brother called
her “trouble” for good reason. Madison’s temper could get her into a tight spot if the police got her riled up. She was a firecracker with a short fuse, and when she went off, she was usually the one who got burned.
“She twisted her ankle earlier,” Pierce said. “Did she seem okay?”
“She was favoring her right leg a bit,” Casey said. “But she seemed fine. No cast or crutches.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “You should have called me. When one of my agents is involved in a shooting, I shouldn’t have to hear about it from Savannah-Chatham Metro PD.”
“It was a flesh wound, no big deal.”
Tessa placed her hand on top of his. “Possible broken ribs is definitely a big deal.”
He eased his hand away. “What are you doing here?”
“Where else would your doting fiancée be?” She grinned.
“She was with me when Hamilton called.” Casey’s voice held a note of impatience. “I want answers. Who is this Madison woman? Why were you at her house this morning?”
“Her brother, Logan Richards, is a friend of mine. He’s out of the country on his honeymoon and asked me to check on her. That’s all there is to it. There’s nothing federal about this.”
“This became federal the moment a federal agent got shot.” Casey frowned. “Wait, Madison—that name sounds familiar.” His eyes widened. “Is she the same Madison who—”
“Tessa,” Pierce interrupted, giving Casey a hard look, “would you mind going to the house to get me a fresh shirt? I’d rather not wear a hospital gown when I leave.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to invent an excuse to get rid of me, darling. Don’t forget our appointment tonight. I’ve got everything set. If we pull this off, the case is over. If not, you’ll be stuck with a fake fiancée a lot longer than you’d hoped.” She stepped out of the room, her high heels clicking down the hallway.
Casey yanked the curtain shut and turned around to face Pierce. “Are we talking about the Madison? The widow you dated a few months back?”
Pierce started to cross his arms, but the tug on his stitches stopped him.
He’d only spoken once to Casey about Madison, the weekend she’d broken up with him. He’d gotten roaring drunk, and didn’t even remember making the phone call. Casey had reminded him about their conversation in embarrassing detail the next day when he’d called to make sure Pierce was okay.
“It’s not what you think,” Pierce said.
“I sure hope not. Please tell me you didn’t transfer to Savannah just so you could be near the same woman who dumped you.”
“I didn’t even know she lived here until her brother called me this morning. The last I knew, she was living in New York.”
“How did you two hook up in the first place if you didn’t even live in the same state?”
“Her brother is the police chief I helped with that last serial killer case I worked on. She visited Logan during the investigation, and she and I hit it off.”
Casey raised a brow. “Hit it off? From what I recall, it was a bit more serious than that. You two were—”
“Drop it.”
Casey laughed. “I’m just saying that—”
“Drop. It.”
Casey raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” His look turned thoughtful. “How did she end up in Savannah?”
“She mentioned something about her brother encouraging her to buy a house here. As to why, I have no idea.”
“Is this the same brother who encouraged you to transfer here?”
Pierce tensed as he realized what Casey was implying—and damned if he didn’t agree. Logan was trying to get him and Madison back together. The next time he spoke to Logan he’d let him know what he thought of his interference. And he’d let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the odds of him and Madison getting back together were exactly zero. She’d made her feelings, or lack of them, perfectly clear when she’d left him. And he had too much pride to put himself in that position again.
No matter how sexy and appealing she was.
A wry grin tilted up the corner of Casey’s mouth. “You’ve been set up.”
“Yeah, got that. I’ll deal with Logan later. Right now, I need to keep his reckless sister from getting herself killed. And you’re going to help me.”
IN THE SHORT time since she’d moved to Savannah, Madison had never once been tempted to go on one of the infamous ghost tours. But as she sat on a bench in Colonial Park Cemetery and watched another ghost tour walk by, she had to admit their entertainment value was far better than she’d expected.
They were certainly entertaining her.
“Where have you been all day?”
The sound of a deep, male voice beside her had Madison grabbing her Colt .380 pistol out of her jacket pocket. An iron grip clamped around her wrist. Madison looked up, then collapsed back against the bench in relief.
Pierce.
He swore under his breath and slid onto the bench beside her, forcing her to move over to make room for his broad shoulders. He took the gun, pointing it toward the ground as he checked the safety. His mouth drew into a tight line, and he handed the tiny pocket-pistol back to her. “I’m going to assume you have a license for that.”
Nope, but she wasn’t going to admit it.
She shoved the tiny gun back in her jacket pocket, grateful none of the departing tourists seemed to have noticed anything.
“How did you find me?” She knew she’d have to face him sometime, but she’d hidden out in the library most of the day, hoping to put off the confrontation a bit longer. She still wasn’t sure how she’d explain her actions this morning. And she also wasn’t sure what she’d say if he brought up the subject of his fiancée. Part of her was actually happy for him that he’d found a woman he loved who loved him in return.
The other part of her wanted to use his fiancée for target practice.
“I put the word out I was looking for you,” he said. “A friend at Metro PD called when he saw your car parked in front of the cemetery. I put the word out hours ago.”
His earlier question—Where have you been all day?—hung in the air between them.
She wasn’t about to tell him she’d basically hidden from him all day. “Since you’re out of the hospital, I guess you were right about the ribs not being broken.”
“Scratched and bruised. How’s the ankle?”
She lifted her jean-clad leg, revealing the pink-colored bandage she’d chosen at the hospital, wrapped around her ankle. “A light sprain, barely hurts anymore, especially with the painkillers they gave me.” She lowered her leg as the image of Pierce being shot flashed through her mind again, as it had so many times today. “I never thanked you for risking your life for me this morning. You could have been killed.”
“Thank me by telling me who you were chasing, and why you were chasing him.”
Her pulse started pounding in her ears. If he suspected what she suspected, he’d do one of two things. He’d either insist on telling Logan so her brother could help her, or he’d insist on helping her himself.
The first option didn’t appeal to her at all.
The second option appealed to her far too much.
“Who was he?” he repeated.
“I have no idea.” She shoved her hair back behind her ears. “Some vagrant, I suppose.” She’d tried to sound flippant, but the way his mouth tightened told her she’d failed.
“Describe him.”
“You saw him too,” she hedged. “You describe him.”
“I only caught a quick glimpse.”
“You’re a trained FBI agent.”
He shrugged.
She crossed her arms and sat back. “Apparently, neither of us got a good look at him.”
His expression hardened. “You didn’t get a good look at the shooter, huh?”
“Nope.” She shoved her hair back behind her ear again.
“All right. I’ll play that game. The man you were chasing was a few
inches shorter than me, about six feet tall. Thin, maybe a buck seventy. Caucasian, between thirty-five and forty. Faded jeans. New, white sneakers. Denim jacket, waist-length, unzipped halfway. The hood was pulled up, so I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a black T-shirt under the jacket. How am I doing so far?”
He’d gotten every detail right. She forced a nervous laugh. “You should have been the one the police interrogated if you saw him that well.”
“They did interrogate me. After I left the hospital, I went to the station to give a statement, and to talk to you. But you were already gone.”
“I had nothing else to say so I left.”
“Hamilton told me his men investigated each of your nine-one-one calls, and they never found any evidence to support your claims about a stalker. Is that why you took the law into your own hands today?”
She bristled and crossed her arms. “My claims?”
“You should have called the police this morning. Vigilantes get themselves—or other people—killed.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “That’s not fair. I never asked for your help. And the people I did ask for help—the police—threatened to arrest me. Did Hamilton tell you that part, that he threatened to arrest me for abusing the nine-one-one system and for filing false police reports if I called again?” She jabbed her finger against his thigh to make her point. “When the law lets you down, you have no one to depend on but yourself.”
He grabbed her hand, flattening it against his leg. “I’m sure they were bluffing. They wouldn’t have arrested you. And if you felt the police had failed you,” he continued, “then why didn’t you tell Logan what was going on? Hamilton would listen to a police chief, regardless of his jurisdiction. Logan would have made sure someone helped you.”
Madison couldn’t concentrate with his warm hand holding hers. It felt far too good, and seeing him again made her realize how much she’d missed him. She reluctantly tugged her hand out of his grasp. “I couldn’t ask Logan for help. He’s on his honeymoon, or had you forgotten?”
“Even Italy is only a phone call away. He would have helped, and you know it.”
“You’re right. He would have helped. But Logan’s version of help would have been to cut his honeymoon short and come here. I couldn’t let him do that.”