by LENA DIAZ,
“Hard to say. Lots of prints, but we don’t know yet if they belong to Mrs. McKinley or the burglar. No signs of forced entry. Is she certain she always locks up and sets the alarm when she leaves?”
“She says she does, but I’ve sent a request to her alarm company for a report on when the alarm was set or disarmed. Should be ready later today,” Pierce said.
“You’ll share the report with me, of course?”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll let me know if Mrs. McKinley realizes anything else is missing—besides some old family photographs. It seems odd someone would break in for pictures, in an attic no less, without taking something else of value.” He glanced around the room, his gaze settling on the desk visible in the home office that adjoined the family room. “Like the laptop sitting on that desk, for instance.”
Pierce conceded the point. “If the shooter is Mrs. McKinley’s husband, the break-in makes sense. He doesn’t want anyone to have any pictures of him so he can continue in whatever new identity he’s assumed.”
“I suppose that makes sense, if you buy the whole undead scenario, which I don’t. Not without some kind of hard evidence.”
“Lieutenant?” One of the police officers leaned inside the front door. “There’s something out back you need to see.”
“WHY WOULD SOMEBODY trash everything in the backyard?” Hamilton asked.
Pierce wondered the same thing. Ruined shovels, hammers, rakes . . . they all littered the backyard with their handles sawed in half. Nothing else was disturbed, not that there was much else in her yard to destroy even if someone wanted to.
For a home with a price tag well over a million dollars, there was virtually no landscaping. The only structure was a small shed that had presumably housed the tools. In contrast, the front of the house was thick with ornamental trees and shrubs, and carefully manicured brick paths going up to the front door and out to each side yard. Pierce figured the lack of landscaping in the back must be because of the renovations Madison had mentioned earlier. Although it wasn’t clear what types of renovations were being done. The house itself was untouched.
“Could be a teenage prank, unrelated to the burglary,” one of the policemen said.
“Doubtful,” Lieutenant Hamilton said.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Pierce said at the same time. He exchanged a rueful glance with Hamilton. Apparently neither of them were strong believers in coincidences.
Officer Crowley, the police officer who had Madison in the back of his patrol car, stepped around the corner of the house and approached the small group. He had a pained expression on his face. “Agent Buchanan?”
“Yes?”
“Mrs. McKinley is demanding, quite forcefully, to be let out of the car so she can see what’s going on back here. She said something about making a list of everyone she’s going to sue if she isn’t let out in the next minute. She sounds serious.”
“Oh, I have no doubt she is.” Pierce laughed at the worried look on the policeman’s face. “Lieutenant Hamilton, do you mind if Mrs. McKinley comes back here?”
“Not as long as she doesn’t touch anything and stays out of the way.” Hamilton waved toward the officer. “Go ahead, let her out.”
Pierce strode to the side of the house so that he could watch Madison. When the car door opened, she burst from the vehicle. To say she was furious didn’t even come close.
As she stalked across the lawn toward him, he struggled not to laugh. She looked liked an adorable little pixie, all stirred up, her face red, her eyes flashing. He couldn’t wait to find out what kind of outrageous thing she would say when she reached him.
Everyone else watching her seemed to be holding their breath with worry.
When she caught sight of the ruined tools scattered around the yard, her eyes widened and her anger seemed to leave her in a surprised rush. Pierce’s amusement faded when he saw the flash of fear in her eyes. Just as quickly, the fear was gone and she was back in control—or at least that’s the face she showed Lieutenant Hamilton and the others.
Pierce knew better.
“What happened?” she asked.
“We’re not sure.” Pierce said. “I assume your tools weren’t in this condition the last time you were back here.”
She shook her head. “They’re not my tools. They belong to the contractor who’s adding the sun porch to the back of the house. They’ve been tearing out the landscaping and the old brick patio to make room for the addition. Are all of the tools ruined?”
“Looks that way.” Lieutenant Hamilton stepped forward. “Do you have a number for the company performing the renovations? I’ll need them to sign a complaint and write up an inventory of exactly what was destroyed.”
“I’ve got their number programmed into my cell phone inside. I’ll go get it.”
“No rush. Just text me once you have it. You already have my contact information.”
She nodded. “Do you think this is related to the break-in?”
“Hard to say. We haven’t found any evidence to explain how someone could have gotten into your house. No scratch marks on any locks. No broken windows or unlocked entry points. Are you positive no one else has a key?”
“I had the locks changed when I moved in.”
“What about other valuables that could be missing? Maybe something you don’t use very often.”
“I’ll have to look around and see.”
He glanced over at his men. “I think we’ve done about all we can here for now. I wouldn’t normally expend this much manpower on a break-in, but with everything going on . . .” He shrugged. “We’ll get in touch with your contractor and let you know if we have more questions later. And I’ll have an officer canvas the neighborhood, see if anyone saw anything.” He gave Pierce a nod, then moved away to talk to one of the officers.
“Go ahead and get your phone,” Pierce said.
“Why?”
“You heard the lieutenant. No rush. This isn’t his top priority. I don’t want to wait around. I want to talk to your contractor.”
MADISON CALLED THE contractor and found they were at another construction site, a Victorian a few streets away. When she and Pierce pulled up to the curb, the first thing she saw was the enormous, dark green dumpster snugged up against the house. Workers with bright yellow hardhats tossed debris out the windows on the second floor into the metal dumpster below, stirring up small clouds of dust.
“Which one is the contractor?” Pierce asked her, talking loudly to be heard over the banging as some pieces of scrap wood fell into the metal dumpster. He stepping around another, smaller dumpster at the end of the driveway.
Madison shaded her eyes from the sun and surveyed the busy site. “I don’t see her. Maybe she’s inside, or around back.”
The sound of a powerful engine had them both turning around. A white, long-bed pickup pulled to the curb behind Pierce’s car. There were two men in the cab. The driver started grinning when he saw Madison and Pierce.
“I thought you said your contractor was a woman.”
The irritation in Pierce’s voice had Madison looking at him in surprise. “She is. I don’t know who these men are, but I assume they work for her. The name of her company is written on their truck—B-and-B Construction.”
“They don’t work for her.” He sounded disgusted. “She works for them.”
She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but the men from the truck had just reached them.
The first one, a dark-haired man just as tall and muscular as Pierce, and about the same age, grinned widely and pounded him on the back. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
The second man was quite a bit younger and looked like he should have been sitting in a college class somewhere. He was just as tall as the first one, but lankier, as if he hadn’t quite grown into his frame yet. He nodded at Madison but didn’t say anything.
“Who’s this beautiful woman standing next to you?” The first man aimed his sunny
grin at Madison.
His grin was contagious. And when he added a wink, Madison laughed out loud. She stepped forward to introduce herself, but Pierce grabbed her around the waist and anchored her against him.
She was about to tell him what she thought of his Neanderthal ways, but the sullen expression on his face made her pause.
“Madison McKinley,” he said, “This grinning fool is Braedon. And the serious one is Matt. My brothers.”
MADISON SAT IN one of the chairs on the back patio, just behind the Victorian’s finished sunroom. Pierce had taken the chair next to her, and his brothers sat across from both of them. B&B Construction—Buchanan and Buchanan. She should have realized what the B&B stood for as soon as Pierce’s brothers got close enough for her to see them clearly.
The older one, Braedon, looked the most like Pierce. Same build and coloring, but Braedon smiled a lot more than Pierce did. In fact, the more Braedon smiled, the less Pierce smiled.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous. And wasn’t that ridiculous? He’d made it clear after that shattering kiss the other day that he wasn’t interested in her. So why would he care if his brother flirted with her?
She glanced at the younger brother, Matt. He looked to be around twenty, maybe twenty-one. At first, she’d thought he was shy. But after watching him with his brothers for the past few minutes, she realized he was just quiet, intent. He studied everything and everyone around him, as if he were absorbing every piece of information and weighing it for its worth. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully, making each one count.
He caught her looking at him, but instead of winking and grinning like Braedon tended to do, he simply nodded and looked back at his brothers.
“This isn’t the first time there have been problems at Mrs. McKinley’s house,” Braedon said. “Colleen had two slashed tires there last week.”
“Did she report any other problems? Did she see anyone watching the house while she and her crew were there?”
Matt sat forward, crossing his arms on the tabletop. “Someone put sugar in one of the guy’s gas tanks the day they started pulling out the landscaping.”
Braedon raised a brow. “You didn’t tell me about that.”
Matt shrugged. “Didn’t need to. I took care of it.”
“And how exactly did you take care of it?”
“He’s putting two kids through college. He can’t afford repairs like that. I leased him a loaner and put his truck in the shop. I told him the company will pay for it.”
“That’s a heck of an expense to approve for a kid who’s home on a break. Especially when it’s not you who’ll have to pay for it.”
Matt stared at him, not looking impressed with his brother’s speech. He also didn’t rush to apologize.
Madison tensed, wondering what Braedon would do.
He suddenly grinned and slapped Matt on the back. “Good job, kid.” He turned back to Pierce. “I haven’t heard of any other problems. The footers for the sunroom’s foundation are scheduled to be dug next week. Should we cancel?”
“Yes,” Pierce said.
“No,” Madison said at the same time. “I’ll reimburse you for the losses your company has suffered while working on my project, including the repairs to that man’s truck, but I don’t want you to stop or delay the schedule.”
“Why not?” Pierce demanded.
“Because I’m not going to let some . . . teenage pranks change my plans.”
He looked incredulous. “Teenage pranks?”
“Am I missing something?” Braedon asked.
“No,” Pierce and Madison said at the same time.
Braedon exchanged a surprised look with Matt.
Matt pushed his chair back and stood. He stepped in front of Pierce. “I’m not sure what’s going on between you two. But I do know that Mrs. McKinley paid us to do a job.” He directed his next remark to Madison. “We’ll have a team at your house next week, as planned, to dig the footers.” With that, he walked across the patio and around the side of the house toward the street.
The corner of Pierce’s lip twitched.
Braedon grinned and reached across the table to shove him.
He shoved him back, and they both laughed. The tension that had existed between them seemed to evaporate.
Madison frowned, not at all sure why they seemed so amused. “What’s so funny?”
“My little brother has grown a backbone,” Pierce said. “Braedon, I’d like you and Matt to take over the work at Madison’s house. Do you have the time?”
“We’ll juggle things around. We’ll make it work.”
“Tell your men to stay on their toes, and let me know right away if anything goes wrong, no matter how ordinary.”
“You got it.”
Pierce tugged Madison’s hand until she rose to stand beside him. As they turned to go, Braedon put a hand on Pierce’s shoulder.
“You’re obviously worried there’s more to this than some neighborhood kids having fun. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, I’m fine with that. But just because I’m not some hotshot FBI agent doesn’t mean I can’t help. You get in a tight spot, call me. I’ll be there.”
MADISON REREAD THE card Mrs. Whitmire had given Pierce. She shook her head and looked back at the padlocked door to the storage unit. “This can’t be right. Did Hamilton confirm this was Mr. Newsome’s business address?”
Pierce leaned back against the hood of his car. “He hasn’t sent anyone to see Newsome yet, so he wouldn’t know. Mrs. Whitmire did say Newsome was just starting out. It’s not uncommon for people to use a storage unit or even a post office box as their company’s address. He probably keeps his mowers and tools here.”
Madison shoved the useless card back into her purse. “Do you think the people in the storage company office can give us his home address?”
“Not if they understand privacy laws, they won’t.”
“Can we at least try?”
He shook his head. “Going to a place of business is one thing. Taking you with me to Newsome’s house isn’t going to happen, not unless Hamilton’s men did their wellness check and can assure me there’s no danger.”
Patience was never one of her virtues, and waiting like this was torture. She ran her fingers across the shiny hood of his car. “Maybe his men already checked on him and forgot to tell you.”
He let out a long, slow sigh and pulled out his phone. A few minutes later, he shoved it back into his pocket. “All right, you win. Hamilton said his men spoke to Newsome about an hour ago. He gave me Newsome’s address. It’s not far from here. Let’s go.”
NEWSOME’S HOUSE WAS a modest one-story a few miles from the historic district, a block off Skidaway Road, partially hidden beneath towering oak trees with Spanish moss dripping down.
“For a yardman, his yard sure is overgrown,” Madison said, picking her way through the knee-high weeds crowding onto the walkway.
Pierce’s gaze scanned the yard, the front porch, as if he were taking everything in.
A rolled newspaper was lying on the porch steps. Madison picked it up to take a look. “Today’s paper. That’s a good sign, right?”
“Possibly. You should have stayed in the car like I told you.” He pulled her to a stop when she reached the top porch stair.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “Hamilton said his men spoke to Newsome.”
“Humor me. Don’t move from this spot until I tell you it’s all clear.” He gave her what she thought of as his FBI-agent stare and continued across the porch to the front door. When no one answered his repeated knocking, he crossed to the end of the porch to peer around the corner of the house to the side yard.
She hurried forward and peeked in through the front window, cupping her hands against the glass to see past the glare. “It’s fairly clean inside. Doesn’t look abandoned.”
“For the love of . . . get away from the window.” He strode forward and grabbed h
er arm.
“Wait, I think I see Mr. Newsome.”
A shadow, darker than the rest, appeared in the hallway.
Madison waved a hand to get the man’s attention, then sucked in a sharp breath.
Pierce yanked her away from the glass and pulled out his gun, every muscle in his body tense. “What?” He edged to the corner of the window. “What did you see?”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Damon. I think I just saw Damon.”
“I’M TELLING YOU, Damon was in there.” Madison leaned back against Pierce’s car in front of Newsome’s house, facing off against Lieutenant Hamilton. She didn’t understand why he was so inclined not to believe everything she told him.
For once, Pierce wasn’t giving her one of his warning looks or telling her to be quiet. He was facing Hamilton next to her and looked just as puzzled as she was.
Behind the lieutenant, two police cars sat in Newsome’s front yard, lights flashing.
“Did you see anyone?” Hamilton asked Pierce.
“No, but I saw Madison’s reaction . . . her genuine reaction. She saw someone inside, and believes it was her husband. He wasn’t wearing a hood this time. She saw his face. That’s good enough for me.”
She sidled closer to him and put her hand on his waist, lightly squeezing to let him know she appreciated his support.
“It was dark inside. No lights on,” Hamilton said, still sounding skeptical.
“It was him,” Madison insisted.
“There’s no one inside. I should know. My men just broke in Mr. Newsome’s front door, a door you, Mrs. McKinley, are going to have to pay for when Mr. Newsome comes home.”
“No problem,” she said. “I’ll take it out of my police benevolent donation this year.”
That earned her one of Pierce’s warning looks, but it was worth it.
“When your men spoke to Newsome, how did he look?” Pierce asked. “Was he anxious, worried about anything?”
A light flush of red crept up the lieutenant’s neck. “Actually, they didn’t visit him in person. They spoke to him on the phone. I didn’t think it was worth their time driving over here, and it turns out it wasn’t. There’s no one here.”