by Alana Lorens
“He seems really nice,” Maddie said.
“He might be.” Suzanne grinned and headed for Interstate 376.
****
When they arrived a short time later at the expensive Shadyside Morgan home, they found the door standing open. Nothing was amiss in the beautifully-landscaped front yard and no one came out at the sound of their car doors closing.
Nick’s eyes took on a troubled look. “You two stay here,” he ordered. He tucked the envelope under his arm before he removed his pistol from its holster. He disappeared inside the large brick house.
“Oh, my God,” Maddie gasped. “What’s he going to do?”
Suzanne shushed her, pulling her behind the parked car, now a barrier between them and the house. “If someone’s broken in, they might still be inside,” she whispered. “Nick will find them. Don’t worry.”
Expecting to hear shots any moment, Suzanne was relieved when Nick poked his head out the door and beckoned them to come in. “Don’t touch anything,” he warned as they came to the front step.
“Don’t—what happened?” Suzanne asked. Then she saw.
The house looked as if a poltergeist had been through every drawer, every closet. Maddie's clothes were scattered around the living room, slashed to pieces. Furniture was overturned. Some of the children's toys were burned in the middle of their bedroom floor.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Scrawled across the front of the kitchen refrigerator, in what looked like blood, were the words, “You're dead, bitch.”
Maddie had managed well until then. Her knees seemed to fold up, and she fell in the middle of the floor and cried as if her heart was broken.
Suzanne took some pictures while Nick called for back-up. Whatever he said to the dispatcher must have shaken up someone, because officers were on scene in fifteen minutes. Suzanne had never seen such a fast response. Granted, her clients in this neighborhood usually got good service, unlike some other sections of the city. But this was phenomenal.
Officers were photographing the scene when Greg Morgan came strolling through the still-open door, dressed in a Versace suit and tie. “What's this all about?” he asked, wide-eyed. “Honey, are you all right?”
Suzanne stepped in front of Maddie, but the woman moved like she’d been hit with a jolt of electricity, fleeing to the bathroom. The click of a lock sounded in the stunned silence that followed.
Morgan eyed Suzanne. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
Suzanne opened her mouth to speak, but Nick’s voice from the hallway commanded everyone’s attention. “Are you Gregory Morgan?” he asked, coming into the living room, badge in hand.
The councilman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you blind, man? You work for me!”
Before Nick could respond, Suzanne’s sheer dislike for the man shoved words out of her mouth. She wanted to shock and hurt him, even if she couldn’t punch his face into pulp the way he’d done Maddie’s.”I'm Suzanne Taylor. I represent your wife in the divorce action she filed this morning.”
Morgan's jaw twitched slightly, but that was the only indication he understood. He surveyed the destruction with solemnity. “I can’t believe Maddie would go to this length,” he said. “Unbelievable.”
“Maddie?” Suzanne asked, after a silent moment of astonishment at the man’s gall.
“She isn't always stable, you know. She's been on psychotropic medication. Sometimes she doesn't know what she's doing.” He looked at the officers and smiled. “I love the woman but you have no idea what a handful she can be.”
Suzanne saw the officers' expressions start to change, no doubt wondering if they were backing the wrong horse. Morgan went on, “If it wasn't Maddie, then I hope you find whoever did this. Is anything missing?” He walked to the entertainment center, checking the components.
One of the officers shot an irritated look at Nick. “Mr. Morgan, where have you been the last several hours?”
Morgan spun around, outrage flushing his face red. “Me? You think I'd destroy my own home?” He puffed like a barnyard cock, ready to fight. “I've been in a meeting with my managers all day. You can call my office if you don't believe me.”
The officer noted his answer and closed up his notebook.
Morgan walked to the kitchen door and gasped. “Good God. She's more disturbed than I thought,” he said.
Nick had apparently heard enough, because he walked across the room to hand Greg Morgan the envelope with the papers. “In this package is a complaint for divorce and also a protection from abuse order, signed by the judge this morning—”
“What a crock,” Morgan muttered, tossing the papers on a nearby desk without looking at them.
“Sir, this means you are restrained from further abusing and threatening your wife. You are required by order of court to leave this residence, pending a hearing next week.”
“The woman is mentally ill. Don’t you understand that?” Morgan protested to the police officers, who now wouldn't meet his eyes. Pleased her work had rattled him, Suzanne couldn't stop a cocky smile, and Morgan caught it.
“I'm going to sue you for libel, lady. You'll never practice law again,” he said. As he spoke, she saw the eyes Maddie had described from the prior evening. She imagined her hair beginning to smoke. The outrage kicked her chutzpah into high gear.
“Bring it on, pal,” she said. “I’m ready for you.”
The officers took Morgan to the bedroom, supervising as he packed a small bag of clothes and personal items. Nick gave Suzanne an odd look she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. Despite what she knew about Greg Morgan, at that moment, she wasn’t afraid. To the contrary, her adrenaline was pumping and she was ready for a fight. Hyper aware of Maddie cringing behind the bathroom door, and the seething negative energy that was Gregory Morgan, her gaze returned to the crimson scrawl on the refrigerator.
How dare he? He wasn’t divine. He had no right to control his woman’s life, to terrorize and threaten her. Whatever he had coming, he deserved. She hoped she’d be the one to give it to him.
Morgan came out of the bedroom with a bulging gym bag. Two officers followed him, one warning if he returned to the house, he would be arrested. At the lieutenant’s pointed nod, he added that the police would keep watch on the house to make sure he didn't come back. Before he stepped out of his home, Morgan turned to Suzanne, once again the glad-handing politician with a jolly smile. “Tell her I love her, will you?” he said. “Take her to the doctor. She doesn't take good care of herself. Once she's back on her medicine, she'll beg me to come home.”
Suzanne stared at him. Morgan’s smile widened, and he walked out with the officers, cracking jokes.
After the door closed behind Morgan and the officers, her knees trembled, and she leaned on a nearby chair for support. She hadn't realized how much effort went into withstanding Mr. Morgan's charismatic personality.
“Suzanne?” Nick was at her side before she noticed he’d moved, a hand on her elbow, steadying her. “It’s all right,” he said.
His recognition of her moment of weakness straightened her spine. “I’m fine. I’m not a victim here. She is. How could Maddie survive sixteen years with that monster?”
“I don’t even begin to understand. But you’ve helped her take the first steps toward freedom.”
“We both have,” Suzanne said, reluctantly acknowledging it had been a joint effort. “Thank you for sending her to me. It was the right thing to do.”
“I thought so,” he said. “No one better to deal with it.” His eyes were warm. Was he seeking a quid pro quo? “I did a favor for you, now you owe me”? She hoped not. Men thought like that sometimes.
Women did, too, she scolded herself. She tried not to. She didn’t want to be indebted to any man, least of all one she actually liked and respected.
He didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t want to give him an opening. They fidgeted in awkward silence for several minutes until the bathroom door opene
d, and Maddie came out, arms hugged close around herself.
“They’re gone,” Suzanne said.
“But look at this place,” Maddie said, tears still streaming down her face.
Then the children came home from school.
Chapter Eight
Nick didn’t know what to think as he surveyed the Morgan house. It seemed to him like they’d entered a world cut from nightmare. As a child, if he had come home to find that kind of destruction, he might have been hysterical. Maddie Morgan’s quiet voice reminded him of his mother, but his father had never raised a hand to any of them. The kind of chaos these children must live in, hardly a blink as they stood, silent and pale, on the threshold just long enough to soak it in.
Then the boy tossed his book bag into the middle of the pile and bailed upstairs. The girl gave her mother a hug before she began to help clean up.
“Do you want me to stay and help you, Maddie?” Suzanne asked.
Maddie shook her head. “I’d like some privacy, actually. We’ll take care of it.”
Nick took one more look around. “Photos. You should take photos before you clean it up.” His gaze went to the refrigerator. “Especially that.”
Maddie didn’t look. She clearly knew what he was referring to. “I’ll do it. Thank you for coming.”
She walked them to the door, just like any good hostess. Suzanne made Maddie promise to call her if she had any trouble, then Nick walked her to her car.
He scribbled his cell number on the back of his business card and handed it to her. “Now I want you to promise me that you’ll call if you have any trouble. On Maddie’s behalf, or your own.”
Suzanne watched the house thoughtfully. “Your people will look after her, won’t they? She can call if she’s harassed, and someone will be out right away. Right? You and the officer told her someone would patrol to make sure.”
An edge in Suzanne’s voice stung him. A shot of guilt zinged through him as he admitted, to himself at least, that he might have been overly optimistic about police response. “Come on, Suzanne, you know that was for Morgan’s benefit, warning him not to come back. I can’t promise that a car will park here all night.” Nick shifted his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable to be put on the spot. As much as he believed his gut Morgan was the guilty party. Shadyside wasn’t his division. He probably shouldn’t have spoken for the department. He’d just wanted that smug look to leave Gregory Morgan’s face.
In his book, career politicians and evangelical preachers shared a status with low-class used car salesmen, phony through and through. Easy enough to handle them. Smile to their face, and as soon as possible, wash the hand that just shook their slimy one. Something about Morgan had never rung true, but Nick knew the man had cachet with the higher ups. He’d probably hear about this.
When he didn’t answer, Suzanne eyed him, her expression conveying disappointment. “At least the police respond to calls in this neighborhood within a reasonable time,” she said tartly. “Otherwise, I guess they can be as useless as the rest of the system.” She closed her car door, almost before he could step out of the way. He watched her pull out of the driveway, compelled to give her a half-hearted wave, but she didn’t look back.
What the hell did she want? He’d known she could handle the legal end, and it seemed like she had it all in order. He had dropped everything to help serve the papers when she called. He couldn’t exactly post an officer on this woman’s front yard, even if her husband was a crazy bastard.
Annoyed, he stalked to his car, his neck muscles pulling tight. He gunned the engine, backing out onto the street faster than he should have, narrowly missing a pair of empty garbage cans on the lawn across the street. Calm down, Nick. You can’t afford a new bumper.
He headed back to the station, discontent percolating in the back of his mind.
But the picture that kept returning to his mind was Suzanne’s face, at the height of her game, mano a mano with Greg Morgan, challenging him with the depths of her soul. She wasn’t in the least afraid of a man who was clearly dangerous. The flash of her eye, the straight line of her back, the stance like the proverbial mother lion protecting a helpless cub all revealed something fiery in her soul, someone he admired and wanted to know intimately.
What could he do to get her attention?
****
Two days passed before Nick got his head far enough above water at work to call her. He’d been right that departmental feathers would be ruffled by his appearance in Shadyside, but he’d staved off the worst of it with a personal call to Phillip Johnson, his counterpart. He’d explained what happened, and Phil shrugged it off. Cops did what they had to at any given moment. They all understood that.
He’d arrived home late before he’d decided to call her. Eight o’clock on a weeknight? She had teenagers. Plenty early enough.
His fingers stuttered clumsily on the face of his cell phone as he tried to dial the number he’d saved when she’d called him. The third time, he got it right, silently cursing the fact she made him so nervous.
How many casual dates had he arranged without so much as a second thought?
But something about Suzanne Taylor set his insides twisting.
He turned off the lights in his small living room and opened the sliding glass doors to the wooden deck that ran the length of his half of the side-by-side duplex. He’d owned the building on the outskirts of McKees Rocks for nine years. The tenant in the other half, an older woman who taught junior high school, paid rent that covered the mortgage. The arrangement worked for him.
He leaned on the rail on the deck’s edge and looked up at the stars, spotting the constellation Orion in the southwest. As he watched, a spot of light streaked across the sky. He made his wish, like his mother had always taught him to do.
The phone rang several times, leaving him scrambling for something to say should the call go to voicemail. His words seemed to duck into the nooks and crannies of his brain, impossible to find, daring to play hide and seek with his tongue. He was actually grateful when she picked up.
“Suzanne Taylor,” she said, all business.
“Suzanne, it’s Nick Sansone. Do you, ah, have a minute?”
A hesitation. “Has something happened to Maddie?”
“What?” Not what he had expected. “No. No, that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh. What is it, then?”
“I..ah.” He cleared a throat strangled by nerves. Come on, Sansone. Just tell her what you want. “I wondered if we could get together this weekend.”
Another hesitation, longer this time, then her reply, laced with wry amusement. “Really, Lieutenant, haven’t you gotten tired of my company over the last week?”
He considered the correct response. Something serious? A zinger? She didn’t seem the kind who wanted hearts and flowers. What answer would get him past the doorstep? “It’s either this or hope they play tackle at the next Bar-Badge charity football game.” Nick held his breath, waiting to see if he’d chosen the right course. To his relief, she laughed.
“It’s kind of you, but I’ve got serious plans this weekend. Me and a garden rake.”
A light breeze riffled through the hair on the back of his neck. “Hey, I love garden rakes,” he said, packing enthusiasm into his tone.
“Really.”
“Really! I have one. Here. Somewhere.” Must be one in the garage. He wasn’t sure what all was out there, between what he’d bought and what his father had dropped off from time to time once he had his own house. But a rake, that was pretty standard. People had shovels, hoes, rakes. Sure, he had one.
“Do you know how to use it?”
The biting note both stung him and made him smile. “I’m pretty sure which end to hold. Look, you tell me where and when and I’ll be there, fully armed.”
“I’m serious about the gardening. The yard’s full of leaves and I’ve got to tuck everything in for winter. I’m tempted to call your bluff, just to make you so
rry.”
“I dare you.”
A soft chuckle came across the phone. “You’re on, Lieutenant. Nine a.m., I’ll make the coffee, and you’d better be holding your equipment.”
He chuckled at the double entendre. “I’ll be there. With my Housebuilders belt on.”
She gave him her address, and general directions. Worried he might say something to jinx the miracle he’d somehow managed to pull off, he told her goodbye and clicked the button.
When you wish upon a star…
He laughed at himself. “Yeah, pal, look what you’ve done. Congratulations, you get to spend half a day at manual labor.”
But with a companion like that, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not bad at all.
****
Since she’d offered coffee, he drove his big silver Chevy pickup truck across town to Moio’s in Monroeville for fresh Roman cannolis, a specialty ladylock shell stuffed with fresh vanilla custard and a cherry in the middle. By the time he found a place to park, got in the crowded shop and back out, he’d wasted over an hour. He knew he was trying too hard, but something in his gut insisted he had to set the bar fairly high to impress this woman.
Her house was north of the city in Indiana Township, on a road best categorized as rural. A long stone driveway led up to a white two-story with a side porch and a yard. A huge yard. His heart sank as he saw it. He’d really gotten himself in deep this time.
Grabbing the string-tied box with the cannolis and his rake, as promised, Nick strolled up to the door. She opened it before he could knock.
A lazy smile settled on his lips, taking much more effort than he allowed her to see. “You needed cheap labor, ma’am?”
“Glad you wore your play clothes,” she said with a smile. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore jeans that fit just right, with a green T-shirt bearing a Sierra Club logo. She gestured to the box. “Is that for me?”
“For us. You did say you would make coffee.”
“So I did. Come on in.”
She stepped aside, holding the door open. He entered a shadowed hallway. The family room was off to his right, evidenced by the large-screen television that hung on the wall and video games scattered around the floor. Big windows let light into that room, although the angle of the sun wasn’t right for it to reach into the foyer. Neutral-toned furniture posed around a large burgundy Persian style rug and an oak coffee table stacked with magazines.