by LENA DIAZ,
Hamilton pulled out another sheet of paper from the folder and passed it to Alex. “As you can see, the tests confirmed a lethal dose of Maxiodarone was in Mr. Richards’ body. He was definitely murdered.”
Madison tensed and Pierce tightened his hands.
“The interesting thing about Maxiodarone is that, even though it’s lethal, it’s slow-acting. The expert estimates the poison was administered two hours before your father died.”
Casey pointed to the paper Hamilton had given to Alex. “This is a log from your father’s doctors, showing that you were in the middle of a consultation with them during that time. You have a solid alibi. You couldn’t have murdered your father.”
Hamilton cleared his throat. “Given the lack of physical evidence, and just how freaking fishy all this looks, I no longer believe you had anything to do with the murders of the two people found in your yard either.”
Alex tapped the paper and handed it back to the lieutenant. “I’ll expect all charges to be dropped immediately.”
“Done.” Hamilton stood and held out his hand toward Madison. “Mrs. McKinley, on behalf of the Savannah-Chatham Metro Police, I’d like to apologize for putting you through this harrowing experience. All charges against you are dropped, and we’re proceeding forward with an intense investigation into your abduction and those stalking charges. You’re free to go.”
Madison was stunned. This was the last thing she’d expected when she’d come here. She shook his hand and frowned. “What about my father? Are you investigating his murder? You have to know Damon is the one who killed him.”
“That’s out of my jurisdiction. The New York district attorney has been made aware of our findings. It’s up to him now to pursue that investigation.”
“What does that mean? Are they pursuing it or aren’t they?” she asked, rising from her chair.
“Don’t worry,” Agent Casey assured her. “The FBI is now officially in the game. Hamilton invited us to review the case. And, at my urging, the New York police invited us to investigate your father’s death. We believe Damon McKinley could be part of some major crimes over several decades with many potential victims. We can’t ignore that. We want to know what’s going on just as much as you do.
“Thank you,” she said, amazed at how things were turning out.
He nodded. “I apologize for not believing you before. I hope you understand. In my business, it’s all about evidence.”
“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Pierce said. “We can call Logan and let him know the charges have been dropped.”
Madison smiled her first smile in days and stepped out of the conference room. Pierce put his hand on the small of her back again, invoking images of the shower they’d shared earlier, heating her skin and tightening her belly. She was suddenly anxious to get him alone where she could do all the things she’d wanted to do to him last night but was too exhausted to do by the time he’d finished with her.
She was far from finished with him.
She grinned up at him and gave him a saucy wink.
He gave her an admonishing look, but she could tell he wasn’t all that worried.
“Well, hello there.”
Madison stumbled to a halt, a shiver of dread running up her spine. No, it couldn’t be. She whirled around, her heart in her throat as she stared at the man sitting at a desk with a detective.
Pierce put his arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Words couldn’t seem to get past her constricted throat, so instead she pointed at the man.
He smiled at Pierce. “You must be Special Agent Buchanan. What a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Damon McKinley.”
Pierce shoved Madison behind his back. “Hamilton, you’ve got enough evidence to justify a forty-eight hour hold on this man.”
“Absolutely.” Hamilton strode forward, yanking out his cuffs as he stepped around the desk. But instead of handcuffing McKinley, he stopped, his face mirroring shock.
Pierce frowned. “Why aren’t you cuffing him?”
Hamilton shook his head. “There’s no way this man is the stalker. He’s not the man Mrs. McKinley chased in the park. He’s And he couldn’t have abducted anyone.”
The look of satisfaction on Damon’s face made dread shoot through Madison.
“Why not?” Pierce demanded.
Damon eased around the desk.
In his wheelchair.
Chapter Twenty-Four
EVERYONE STARTED TALKING at once.
“He’s faking it,” Madison insisted. “He’s the one I chased in the park. He shot Pierce, and abducted me. He’s no more paralyzed than I am.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Damon clucked his tongue. “Is that any way for a wife to treat her long-lost husband?”
She took a step forward.
Pierce grabbed her and pulled her back. “Mr. McKinley, how long have you been in that chair? Looks new to me. Did you buy it right before you wheeled in to the station?”
Damon glanced down at his chair and wiped his thumb across one of the stainless steel bars, making a play of rubbing a smudge out of it. “I take good care of my equipment.” His face turned sad. “After all, without it I’d be at the mercy of others.”
“How is it that you’re here and not dead?” Hamilton asked.
“Well, now, that’s a long story. One I’m happy to share with you, officer.” He turned his steely gray gaze on Madison. “After I speak to my wife. In private.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Pierce growled.
“I have a feeling Madison won’t agree with you,” Damon said.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” she spat. “You’re a murderer. You killed my father. And you killed that poor woman they found buried in my yard, along with the yardman.”
He placed his hand on his heart. “Accusing me of murder, my dear? How shocking. I am, of course, quite innocent of these terrible charges.”
Agent Casey stepped forward. “Who died in your car in the accident in New York? Who created those fake contracts, signed with your name, as part owner in businesses who all insist the contracts aren’t real?”
“Contracts? I assure you, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” He sighed heavily. “Let me guess. My dear wife provided them to you. Has she become a forger now in addition to her other . . . skills?”
Madison tried to shove past Pierce, but he grabbed her and held her back.
“And the man who died in your car in New York?” Casey asked.
Simon clucked his tongue again. “I was carjacked, mugged. Terrible business, that. He took my wallet, my car, even my clothes. I had short-term memory loss from my injuries. It took a bit of time before I realized what had happened, and who I was.”
Pierce snorted. “Right. And then, instead of going home, you let the world believe you were dead. I’m not buying it. You were running from something, or to something. Why did you fake your death?”
“I didn’t fake my death. But once I realized everyone believed I was dead, I had a very good reason to allow that belief to stand.” Again he looked at Madison, who was peering around Pierce. “Madison, I’m sure you’ll want to speak to me, alone, before I answer any more questions about the last time we saw each other. Don’t you agree?”
Pierce shot a glance at Madison. Her pale face and wide eyes told him they were in trouble here. He’d been worried yesterday, when Alex interrupted their conversation, that she was still holding something back. He’d meant to ask her about it. But he’d gotten a bit distracted after he took her home.
What else could Damon possibly be holding over her?
He turned back toward Damon. “You’re not getting anywhere near her.” He shoved Madison behind him again, and this time she didn’t resist. “And don’t expect me to believe for one second that you’re really paralyzed. You’re the man who shot me in the park.”
Damon rolled his eyes and let out a long, deep breath as if he was bored. “Why don’t w
e just clear up that little misconception right now.” He suddenly leaned over the desk beside him and grabbed a letter opener.
Hamilton lunged toward him, clearly worried that Damon was going to hurt someone. Before Hamilton could stop him, Damon raised the letter opener and plunged it into his thigh.
EVERY EYE IN the squad room stared in shock at Damon McKinley. He hadn’t moved, not even a flinch, when he stabbed his leg.
He stared at Pierce as he calmly set the letter opener on the desk. It had only gone in about a quarter of an inch, but that was enough to get his point across.
“Good grief, he’s bleeding all over the place.” Hamilton snapped his fingers at a detective. “Get some paper towels or napkins. Has anybody got an extra shirt, something to stop the bleeding?”
The detective whose letter opener had just been used was pale and wide-eyed, but he opened his drawer and pulled out a towel. “From my gym bag.” He handed the towel to Hamilton. “It’s clean.”
Hamilton grabbed the towel and pressed it over Damon’s wound.
“The bleeding is already stopping, Lieutenant,” Damon said. “No big deal, truly. Allow me.” He pushed Hamilton’s hand away and held the towel against his leg, all the time aiming a smug smile at Pierce and Madison.
Hamilton gave Pierce a disgusted look. “I suppose you think he just faked that?”
Pierce didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to think at the moment.
“Mr. McKinley,” Hamilton said, “you need to get to a hospital.”
“No, no. I told you. I’m fine. I am a bit tired, though. I’d like to go ahead and answer any questions you have, of course, but again . . . I really must insist that I speak to my wife first. It’s been quite some time since we’ve seen each other—”
“Not very long at all,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “The last time I saw you, you were shoving a threatening note under the door at me, in the room where you held me prisoner.”
Damon shook his head sadly, as if he doubted Madison’s sanity.
“Let’s straighten this mess out.” Hamilton motioned to the detective at the desk beside Damon. “Take him to the main conference room. We’ll be right there.”
As the detective wheeled Damon across the room, Hamilton glared at Pierce and Madison. “Mrs. McKinley, I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt from day one.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes.
He gritted his teeth. “And, I’ve tried, very hard, to believe your outlandish stories. But the lies have to stop, now, today. I want the truth.”
“The truth,” she said, “is that my former husband obviously faked his death. Someone else died in his place. I should think you’d be concerned about who he killed to make that happen.”
“Once again, based on the obvious physical evidence he just presented, I’m inclined to believe his version, that someone mugged him and took his car. I have no reason to believe otherwise.”
“Oh, and I suppose him not showing up for a year and a half doesn’t seem suspicious to you?”
“Of course, it does. I intend to ask him about that. Which brings up another point. What, exactly, does he have on you?”
“What?”
“He mentioned the last night you two saw each other. He seemed to imply there was something significant, something you wouldn’t want others to know about. So, what happened?”
Her face clouded with anger. “We argued, as we always did. I told him to leave. When he wouldn’t, I—”
Pierce grabbed her and anchored her to his side. His abruptness caught her by surprise, making her stop mid-sentence, just as he’d hoped. He didn’t like the look on her face when she was answering Hamilton, and he’d been very worried that the next words out of her mouth were about to put her from the proverbial frying pan into the fire.
Or back in jail.
“Lieutenant, I need a moment with Mrs. McKinley,” Pierce said.
Madison tried to shove away from him. “I’m not done.”
“Yes. You are.”
“No, I’m—”
He clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Do not, under any circumstances, say another word.”
Her face reddened even more as she tried to pull his hand away from her mouth.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I swear to God, if you say one more thing before I get you in a closed room away from the people who want to put you in prison, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. Got that?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded.
He lowered his hand. “We need a minute, Hamilton.”
“What you need is to come to the main conference room so we can talk this out.”
Alex had been watching all the commotion without comment until now. He stepped forward, stopping in front of the lieutenant. “You forget that you formally dropped all charges against Mrs. McKinley. If you’re reinstating those charges, keep in mind she already posted bail. So, unless you’re prepared, right now, to press new charges, she’s free to go. If you aren’t going to arrest her, then I suggest you give Pierce and Madison some privacy. Otherwise, I’m advising my client to leave without making any more statements.”
“All right.” Hamilton didn’t look happy at all, but he waved toward the back corner of the room. “Take my office. But make it quick. I want answers.”
AS PIERCE LED Madison into Hamilton’s office, he reminded himself that this was the woman he’d made love to last night and this morning. This was the woman who’d crept into his heart even though he didn’t want her to. He cared about her.
He reminded himself of that again.
He cared about her.
Therefore, he should not strangle her.
The moment the door to Hamilton’s office closed, Madison wheeled around, practically shooting sparks from her eyes. “Do not, ever, put your hand over my mouth and tell me to shut up again.”
His jaw tightened. “Save the histrionics for someone you can intimidate. Now that we’re not in the middle of a room full of cops wanting to arrest you at the slightest provocation, tell me what you were so hot to tell the lieutenant.”
Some of the anger left her, and she started to look worried. “There might have been one tiny little thing I haven’t told you yet. It’s not that big a deal, really. But I’m pretty sure I know why Damon wants to talk to me.”
“Go ahead. Enlighten me on this tiny little thing that’s no big deal. Please. I’m all ears.”
She plopped down on one of the chairs in front of Hamilton’s desk. Pierce sat in the chair across from her and rested his forearms on his knees.
“The last night Damon and I were together,” she said, “we fought, just like I said. When he wouldn’t leave, I . . . well . . . I grabbed one of my guns to make him leave. I might have . . . well . . . shot him.”
Pierce dropped his head into hands and counted to five before he looked back up at Madison.
She was chewing her bottom lip, looking worried for the first time since Damon had wheeled around the desk. “I guess that didn’t sound so good once I said it out loud.”
“You think? I don’t suppose you shot him in the back? Because that might explain the wheelchair.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
She huffed and crossed her arms. “Of course not. I shot him in the shoulder. He was perfectly fine when he ran out the door. That wheelchair thing is recent, a ruse. I have no doubts about that.”
“Well, it’s good to know someone around here has no doubts,” Pierce grumbled. “I’m a little slow here, so bear with me. You shot him . . . by accident?”
She shook her head. “Oh no. I meant to shoot him.”
This time he counted to ten. “Can you please remember, for one second, that I’m a federal officer? Please tell me you were not trying to kill him.”
She frowned, looking as if he’d just insulted her. “I always hit what I aim at. If I’d wanted to kill him, he’d be dead. I would have double-
tapped him in the head.”
He blinked. “Double-tapped?”
She nodded. “Two quick shots, one, two . . . right between the eyes.”
Counting wasn’t helping his temper, but he tried it again. He counted to twenty this time.
“Mads, what do you think would happen if you told this to Lieutenant Hamilton? He’d arrest you for attempted murder. You can’t tell him.”
“But I wasn’t trying to kill Damon.”
“Hamilton wouldn’t believe that.”
She chewed her bottom lip again. “I didn’t think about that.”
“No kidding.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He continued, before she had a chance to argue. “You think Damon wants to confront you, hold that over you. Why, as blackmail? To get money?”
“Probably. But there’s no proof, so he doesn’t really have anything to hold over me.”
“Don’t underestimate him. From what I’ve seen, he’s very resourceful. Hell, he probably saved the bullet. I don’t suppose you were thoughtful enough to keep the gun, so Hamilton could run ballistics against it and prove where the bullet came from?”
Her wide-eyed look answered that question.
He shook his head and tapped his hands on his thighs, deep in thought. He studied the problem from every angle, and he kept coming back to the same thing. He needed to know what game Damon was playing.
And there was only one way he could figure out how to get that information.
“You’re going to have to give Damon what he wants,” he said.
“What do you mean? Money?”
“No. I want you to talk to him. Alone.”
DAMON SAT IN his wheelchair in the middle of the courtyard behind the police station, while Madison sat on a wrought-iron bench across from him. Damon had refused to speak to her inside the police station, because he didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. This courtyard was the only place all parties would agree to.