The Girls Across the Bay

by Emerald O'Brien

  If he’s here left to his own devices, he’ll put John away without thinking about the big picture. Without realizing this is exactly what the person who left us the pictures wanted.

  “I’m staying too,” she said.

  Mac turned around, glancing up from his phone with a frown. “Fine,” he muttered and turned back around.

  I need to convince him John could be an asset—and I need to get protection for Evette.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Jack parked by the curb, and Madigan locked the front door to Will’s home behind her. She raced down the stairs with Buster and over to his car.

  “Hey,” he said as he rolled down his window. “Talking to two sisters in one day. I’m a lucky guy.”

  “Hey,” she said without any energy behind her voice. “You saw Grace?”

  “Yeah, at work. About the fire. You alright?”

  She nodded. “Could you take Buster to Grace’s place? I texted you the address. I’ll follow behind you on my bike.”

  He nodded, and she opened the back door and patted the seat before Buster jumped inside. With his tail wagging, he stepped over the center console and into the passenger’s seat.

  “Hey, Buster,” Madigan said. “Back here.”

  “Naw, it’s alright.” Jack smiled. “You can ride up front with me.”

  Buster panted with delight, sticking his head out the window. The sight of Jack and Buster’s silhouettes would have been enough to make her laugh, never mind smile, but as she sat behind them at the traffic light, she couldn’t get her mind off Will.

  Where did he go? Is he alone?

  I shouldn’t have come out and said it.

  What else could I have done?

  When they arrived at Grace’s, a crescent moon resembling her tattoo sat high in the sky, shining down on them. Madigan parked her bike in the driveway behind Grace’s car and strode toward Jack’s car, eager to get inside to Grace’s room and bury her head in her pillow.

  Maybe she’s sleeping.

  She opened the door, and Buster jumped down, still wagging his tail and panting hard. A Tragically Hip song played on the radio, and the old, familiar lyrics threatened to strip away her brave façade before she slammed the door shut.

  “That guy’s the best company.” Jack laughed through the cracked passenger window. “Doesn’t try to change the radio station. Doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t ask questions.”

  Madigan nodded, stepping closer to the door, but she couldn’t force a smile.

  “But I do,” he said. “Could you please just tell me you’re alright?”

  “Mhmm, thanks for the ride, Jack.”

  He nodded. “You know I’m here for you no matter what. It’s no trouble.”

  I’m your obligation because of Drew.

  That’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it?

  She had allowed his kindness and sympathy to lull her into a false sense of security once before, letting down her walls and imagining an attraction from him that had only been wishful thinking.

  She wouldn’t let it happen again.

  “I appreciate this,” Madigan said, taking a step back.

  “Madigan?” he called through the small gap in the window.

  She bent down a bit to make eye contact with him.

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  Other way around.

  “I had to ask—” he started.

  She turned around before her tears slid down her cheeks and pulled her suitcase up to the front door. She bent over and picked up the fourth rock from the flowerpot, and felt around in the darkness for the spare key, finding it and sliding it into the keyhole.

  As she opened the door, she turned around, and Jack sat in his car, waiting to see her in. She nodded to him and stepped inside, closing the door behind Buster.

  “Hey, Buster, stay,” she whispered, and he wagged his tail, standing in one spot but sniffing the air all around him.

  She felt her way through the dark entryway to the end table, flicking on the lamp and setting the key down. The motion detector light in the backyard flashed on, and she walked to the door with Buster beside her. She opened the door and stuck her head outside, and Buster let out a few gruff barks.

  “Grace?” she whispered.

  No movement on the patio or anywhere out back.

  “I’d let you out, Buster, but from the sound of that growl, there’s probably a rabbit back there or something,” she said, closing the door and locking it.

  She kicked off her boots and set them by her suitcase at the front door, and by the time she flopped down on the couch, the back porch light had turned off again. Buster lay down in front of the couch below her, and she ran her hand over his back as she propped her head up on the hard decorative pillow.

  “See, Buster? It’s alright,” she whispered.

  He stood up and walked into the kitchen again.

  “Buster,” she whispered.

  If he barks, he’ll wake Grace for sure.

  She didn’t need to be bombarded with her drama after a long shift at work, and maybe it would seem better in the morning. Be easier to talk about.

  Buster sat by the back door, staring out into the darkness. She closed her eyes and fought the thoughts that flooded her mind.

  He’s better off without you.

  You did him a favor.

  The look on his face when I told him we don’t belong together wrecked me.

  I messed up.

  Buster’s bark made her open her eyes again, and she stared at the bright light in the backyard.

  “What’s out there, boy?” she whispered.

  Buster scratched at the door, and she sat up on the couch as he barked again.

  “Shh, you’ll wake Auntie Grace,” she whispered.

  She picked herself up off the couch and tip-toed toward him.

  The light turned off again, and Buster let out a deep growl.

  “No can do, Mac,” Banning said.

  Mac pressed the phone closer to his ear, and the rest of Banning’s words came out too muddled to understand, but they were enough.

  “He lied,” Mac said. “We got him on that. Listen—no.”

  “Could I speak to him?” Grace asked.

  Mac frowned but handed her the cell phone.

  “Chief Banning, this is Grace. I gather you know about the threats Mickey Clarke’s men have made against John?”

  “He filled me in.”

  “Could we get police detail on his mother, Evette’s, home? I can send you the address.”

  “We have it, and that’s fine. I’ll have someone on it ‘round the clock.”

  “Thank you for taking it seriously,” Grace said, having already prepared a rebuttal if he had said no.

  “Well, I don’t thank you,” Mac leaned over and shouted toward the phone. “You get no thanks from me, or the Martins, or the people of Tall Pines if we let this guy go.”

  She could hear Banning sigh on the other line.

  “Tell him to get me more,” Banning said. “I could do it if we had more on it. Listen, tell him the DNA results’ll be in tomorrow. On my word.”

  “I hear him,” Mac grumbled.

  “He hears you,” Grace repeated.

  “Alright, get me something that sticks,” Banning said before the line went dead.

  Grace passed the cell phone back to Mac. “About time the DNA comes in,” she said.

  “I told you, it usually takes weeks. He’s pulling strings to calm me down.”

  “He knows you well, then.”

  “And I know him.” Mac turned to her. “He’s got ulterior motives. He wants this case dealt with. Bad.”

  “His reputation?”

  “Something like that,” Mac mumbled and shoved his cell in his pocket. “Listen, you were right. We can get more out of him if we appear neutral to him, but I won’t be played.”

  He’s admitting I’m right.

  She
stifled a grin. “I get it.”

  “And I don’t know that it was him,” he continued, “but I know he was unaccounted for when the fire started. Those pictures. We didn’t have detail on him when they were taken, am I right?”

  She nodded.

  “So it could have been him, trying to throw us off his scent,” Mac said. “Or it could be whoever killed Lily.”

  “Mickey?”

  “If he threatened John, or had his men do it, I think it’s more to do with his drug op than Lily’s murder. Could be both, though. We need to put pressure on him.”

  “Make him realize he’s being watched?” she asked. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve known someone like him. He sent his thugs to do his dirty work, and they were disposable to him. These men are protected.”

  Mac nodded and leaned back in his seat.

  “They took a picture of my apartment,” he said, his jaw clenched. “My daughter, she visits me there. Whoever did this isn’t getting away with it. I don’t care what it takes.”

  “I know how you feel—well—I don’t have kids, but they took a picture with my sister in it. I’m angry. I won’t let anyone threaten her.”

  “I think the job is part of what split my ex and I up. Aside from the affair she had.” He huffed out a chuckle and shook his head.

  It still stings him.

  “She knows how I put my life on the line every day, and for a long time, it’s been different. It’s Tall Pines. It’s supposed to be a cozy, quiet little coastal town, and for a long time, it was, but the crime rate has risen. I work overtime a lot. There was an incident last year where I pulled over a city slicker for a DD offence, and he pulled a gun on me.”

  “What?”

  “Some rich kid. His dad works for the government. He got off easy, but I didn’t. My wife—” He stopped and looked over at her. “I’ll just say she finally had an excuse to leave and take Kenzie with her.”

  He turned his head toward his window and stared out at the lot for a while.

  “I’m sorry, but is your daughter’s name MacKenzie?” Grace asked, and he turned to her. “MacKenzie MacIntyre?”

  She grinned, and he smirked. “No. Her name’s Kensington, after the place her mom and I met. It’s in Toronto.”

  “Ah,” Grace nodded. “Because it’d be weird if you named her after you.”

  “What? No, it wouldn’t.”

  “A little vain.” She smirked.

  He pursed his lips, holding back from smiling with teeth before turning away again.

  “I love her more than anyone knows. Even her mother, I guess. When they threaten me at my home, it’s a threat to her too.”

  “I know.”

  “Your foster sister. Did you meet in that foster home? With Evette?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any other family besides your foster sister?”

  “Not like her. My last foster parents were good. They helped me a lot, but there wasn’t much of a bond between us. They didn’t adopt me like Madigan’s parents did after we left Warbler Way. Madigan is my sister though. No other word before it and no other person like it.”

  “We’re going to catch whoever killed Lily,” he said. “And whoever took those pictures and left them for us? They’ll pay too. You don’t mess with family.”

  Madigan tugged on Buster’s collar, pulling him away from the sliding door and back toward the living room.

  “That’s the last thing I need right now,” Madigan hissed, remembering the last time he got sprayed by a skunk. “We’ll go out later.”

  A hollow clunk came from the bathroom, and Buster turned toward it, tugging even harder against her.

  “No,” she said. “Look, you’ve woken her.”

  She pulled him back to the living room and sat on the couch with his collar still in hand.

  How much should I tell her tonight? It’s late. I’ll just apologize for waking her and…

  A creak echoed down the hallway. Buster lunged forward, and she lost her grip on his collar.

  “Okay,” she sighed.

  Don’t know how happy she’ll be to see you.

  Buster’s bark raised the hairs on her neck. She took a step toward the hallway, and heavy steps thudded toward her.

  A figure dressed in black with a ski mask emerged from the shadows.

  Madigan ran for the kitchen, trying to create distance. To arm herself.

  He’s got something. A weapon.

  She reached for a knife in the butcher block as two hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked her backwards.

  Her hip collided with the cold tile and throbbed with pain. She used her arm to prop herself up, turning as Buster jumped on the man. He kicked Buster, sending him tumbling to the ground with a whimper and sliding across the tile.

  “Buster!” she screamed.

  He got back on all fours, taking another run at the man. He turned to him with the long, black thing in his hand.

  Madigan scrambled to her hands and knees as the man raised the weapon above his head, preoccupied by Buster. Every fiber in her being wanted to run, but she fought the dull ache at her side, pushing herself off the ground.

  You’re not touching him.

  A deep anger boiled inside her as she pushed herself to her feet and lunged at the man in one solid motion, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  He stumbled sideways, and she closed her eyes as he lost his footing. Something heavy crashed against the tile.

  He dropped his weapon.

  He landed on top of her, and she cried out in pain. An extra weight added to the pile as Buster jumped on him.

  “Fuck,” the man hollered.

  Did he bite you? Yes, Buster. Yes.

  She scrambled to get out from beneath them before the man’s weight lifted, and she gasped for breath, inhaling her first full one.

  Lights flooded the living room.

  Headlights.

  Someone’s here. Someone else is coming.

  They’re going to kill me.

  As Mac turned down Rosebank Drive, his headlights reflected off something in her driveway.

  Is that Madigan’s bike?

  Mac parked the car just behind the bike, and a small shadow popped up in her front window.

  Buster?

  She grabbed her files from the seat. “Thanks for the drive,” she said.

  “That yours?” Mac nodded to the bike.

  “My sister’s. See you in the morning.”

  Mac nodded as she opened the door and got out of the car.

  She walked up the L-shaped walkway toward the front door, where Buster barked at the window.

  What’s Madigan doing here?

  She opened the door and dropped her bag with the files as Madigan pulled herself off the floor.

  Something’s wrong.

  “What’s going on?” Grace asked, unable to articulate how she felt.

  Something’s wrong.

  Madigan turned to her with tears running down her cheeks.

  “A man—” she said. “Someone broke in, and he ran. When you came, he ran out the back.”

  She gasped for breath and reached her arms out. “Buster,” she cried.

  He ran to her side, and she knelt, wrapping her arms around him.

  “He’s gone?” Grace asked.

  Madigan nodded.

  Grace turned around. “Stay there.”

  She waved her arms at Mac, who hadn’t left the driveway, and he stepped out of the car.

  “Someone broke in. They attacked my sister. They just left around back,” she hollered.

  “I’m going,” he called. “You stay with her! I’ll call you.”

  She nodded and ran back into the house, locking the front door behind her and taking out her gun. She went from room to room, clearing it before reaching the open bathroom window, locking it.

  She locked the back door, and after clearing all points of entry, she holstered her gun and returned to Madigan and Buster.

  “Di
d he hurt you?” Grace asked.

  “Just my hip,” Madigan said. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re okay,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  It never had been.

  Not after any beatings.

  Not after Drew passed away.

  Not now.

  “You’re okay,” Grace repeated as her phone rang, and Madigan sniffled back her tears.

  “Go,” Grace said, standing up and pressing the phone to her ear.

  “Didn’t leave by the road that I saw. I’m going to the beach on foot,” Mac said, tires screeching in the background.

  “What did he look like?” Grace asked Madigan and put her on speakerphone.

  “Taller than me. Ah—average build,” she said, catching her voice in her throat. “All black. Ski mask. That’s all I saw. That’s all I saw.”

  “You’re sure it was a man?” Grace asked.

  “I just knew.” Madigan nodded. “Then he shouted. I think Buster bit him, and he shouted.”

  Grace nodded. “Did you get that?”

  “Got it,” Mac said. “Call Banning. I want units going around here.”

  “On it,” Grace said.

  “Is she—” Mac started.

  “He left something in the kitchen,” Madigan said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “On the floor.”

  Grace walked over and found the crowbar, half hidden under the table.

  “A crowbar,” Grace muttered.

  “Is your sister okay?” Mac asked.

  “She’s fine,” Grace said. “Thank you.”

  She ended the call and dialed Banning, passing the information on to him. He promised to send out all available units, and after Grace hung up, she led Madigan to the couch with Buster by her side.

  “I’m going to make you some tea,” Grace said, gliding into the kitchen.

  She needs me calm. Be calm.

  She poured water into the kettle and set it on the stove, turning on the gas.

  Buster lay on Madigan’s feet, and she bent over, rubbing his head.

  Whoever took the photos took it further. It had to be the same person.

  “Hey,” Grace said. “Chamomile or green?”

  Get back to normal, Madigan. Come back to me.