The One Who Watches

by Emerald O'Brien

  “Ah, I’m sorry, I haven’t. Not yet, but I will.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “How about I pour you both some wine?” Mac took two stemless glasses from the cabinet and poured them each a glass. “I think we could all use some time to decompress from work. How about no work talk tonight?”

  “Fine by me,” Madigan said.

  Grace gave him a cute smile before turning back to Madigan. “How’s that rice coming? This only needs another five to seven.”

  “Same.” Madigan stirred it again.

  “I’ll set the table.” Mac grabbed some plates, and Buster followed him around the table as he set them out with spoons and napkins.

  “I think he likes you,” Madigan called.

  “Oh yeah?” Mac smiled, grabbing his beer bottle. “I’m still sizing up the guy myself. Not sure what to make of him yet.”

  He took a swig of his drink and bent over, rubbing Buster’s head between his ears. Any awkwardness from when they met at the door melted away, and a calm and content energy filled the room as they prepared to eat, drink, and enjoy.

  “That’s my new favourite.” Mac slung the wet dish towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter.

  “No, wait until you have Mad’s chili.”

  Madigan glanced over her shoulder at Grace as she wiped the sink and grinned.

  “Oh yeah?” Mac asked. “I love mine spicy.”

  “Me too! Grace is more of a mild fan, so I keep it on the mild side and add some sauces and spices to mine after.”

  Mac nodded once in approval and hung the towel over the oven handle. “Nice.”

  They’re getting along even better than I hoped. I just want the night to end here, so nothing bad can ruin this.

  Madigan finished the last of her wine, and Buster stood at her side. “I think I should get going. I need to get some sleep before I follow my person of interest tomorrow.”

  Mac followed her to the door, and Grace trailed behind him. “Hope it goes well.”

  “Oh, hey.” Madigan spun around before the door. “If your friend’s daughter can get those July Talk tickets, could you have her get two for me?”

  Mac grinned. “I’ll put in a good word at the very least.”

  “Thanks!” Madigan pulled him into a hug and faced Grace, mouthing, “He’s a keeper.”

  I think so too.

  Grace gave Madigan a quick hug goodbye. “Text me when you get home.”

  “Will do!”

  Madigan waltzed down the front path, across the driveway toward the foothill to the coast, and Buster followed along, wagging his tail behind her. Mac leaned against the door, turning to shut it as Grace took a step back.

  “Well?” Mac asked.

  “That went well.”

  Mac wandered into the kitchen with a smug grin. A brief click came after, and as she walked in, he opened the cupboard for the mugs, and the coffee maker gurgled behind him.

  “Is yours in the dishwasher?” he asked.

  Right. The mugs.

  “Nope, it’s right here.” She opened another cupboard and pulled out her “S” mug along with a matching “M” one she ordered two weeks before and handed it to him.

  He smiled, inspecting it and glancing at hers. “Well, this is…”

  Too much? Too cheesy?

  “It’s a good mug,” Grace said with a shrug. “Just thought you could use a good mug too.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded with a sparkle in his eyes. “Thanks.”

  After he poured himself a coffee and Grace made her tea, they took their hot mugs into the backyard and sat facing their coastal view as crickets chirped around them.

  “Where’s Waffles?” he asked after his first sip.

  “Probably still hiding from you.”

  “I think it’s Buster he was afraid of. Not me.” He smirked and took another sip. “Your sister, she’s pretty cool.”

  “She is the cool one,” Grace laughed.

  “You’re pretty cool, too,” he muttered in a low voice and reached out for her hand. She took his, and he squeezed it. “I’m glad you suggested this. Getting to know Madigan was like… getting to know a piece of you I didn’t even know existed.”

  Grace sipped her tea and stared at the waning moon. “She knows more about me than anyone else in this world. She’s more a piece of me than anyone, too.”

  “Glad I could spend time with her, and I hope to do it again soon. I’d love to try that chili, see Buster again…”

  “Yeah.” Grace let out a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair, still holding his hand.

  He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb until she turned to him. “That’s Kenzie for me. The one who means the most to me—who’s more a piece of me than anyone—literally.” He chortled, and Grace giggled as they both leaned back, resting their heads on the back of their chairs.

  “Grace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How do you feel about kids?”

  She frowned through her smile. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, Kenzie’s my world. Do you think—eventually—that you’d like to meet her? To have a relationship with her?”

  In fleeting moments, I’ve considered it, but it doesn’t seem real.

  “Isn’t it a little early to be talking about that?” she whispered.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I care about you. I’d like to know that this could go somewhere, and for that to happen, my kid needs to come first.”

  “Well, of course. I’d never considered anything else.”

  He gave a shallow nod, but she could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

  “Did you ever want kids of your own?” he asked. “Not asking for right now. Through your life, did you see yourself with a family like that?”

  “Not really. In foster care, I never felt stability—not fully. I think giving a child that would be, well, I don’t know if there’s anything better. I don’t think I could provide that, and so, I guess, I just decided to myself I couldn’t give what it takes.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I think that’s the kind of thought that should go into deciding to have children or not. I mean, ideally. Stacy and I didn’t plan Kenzie, but we had always wanted to have a family, so it all made sense. I didn’t think things would change so quickly with us, but if I’d seen any warning signs, I wouldn’t have brought a child into the picture.”

  “But you couldn’t have known.”

  “Well, she has a mom and dad who love her. Who’d do anything for her.”

  “You’re a good dad.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled and squeezed her hand again. “Maybe you could see me in action sometime soon?”

  A heavy weight on her chest made it hard to breathe, and she sat up, letting go of his hand. “I think that would be good, at some point, but we’ve only been together a few months. Don’t you think it’s too early to introduce me into her life?”

  I want to be responsible about this. Meeting his daughter is meaningful. Has he considered whether he’s sure we’ll go the distance? He can’t be bringing in someone one day, and they’re gone soon after… or even a while after…

  He licked his lips and set his coffee on the small table between them. “I’m trying to see if you’d be interested. That’s all.”

  “Well, yes. When the time is right.”

  He turned his face away, but not before she saw a hint of a frown. “You let me know when that is.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, an air of tension lingering between them as she rubbed her hands over her arms to warm them.

  “It’s getting cold out here. Why don’t we go inside?”

  She stood and followed him to the door. He turned back, slipped his hand around her waist, and kissed her softly. As they parted, he kept his face close to hers. “I’m not trying to rush anything.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He leaned his forehead aga
inst hers and kept it there.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I’m a package deal.”

  She pulled her face away and smiled up at him. “I know. You remember that time we were in The Big Spoon after Christmas? After we caught those thieves?”

  He nodded, seemingly captivated by what she’d say next. “You were talking about your daughter, and Christmas, worrying if you had done enough for her since your split. It’s one of the first times—if not the first time—that I felt a more defined connection with you than an attraction. Things were rough between us from the start, but as they got better, I saw this different side to you, and that was the first time an emotional connection started to form between us. It scared me, and I pushed it away. Barely acknowledged it myself, but make no mistake, your love for your daughter is more than something I admire. It made you the man I started falling for.”

  He kissed her passionately, easing the pain brought on by the vulnerability she felt after her admission.

  As they parted, a smile returned to his face, and he grabbed her hand, leading her into the house.

  “You know,” he said, his voice low again, as if they were sneaking in. “Our sleepovers are the highlight of my week.” He turned back to look at her with a twinkle in his eye. “I guess you knew that.”

  “Mine too,” she whispered, trying not to giggle as they set their mugs on the counter.

  I feel like a teenager again, only better. This is far better.

  He pulled her through the kitchen and led her down the hall, toward the bedroom.

  Twenty

  Cars whizzed by between Madigan and the tech building Paul Rothman claimed to work at when talking to Raven. The same company he included on his Facebook profile. She leaned back against the bench, squinting into the early morning sun at the entrance to the building.

  After eight, and he’s a no show so far.

  Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and she took it out, reading the text from Raven as her eyes darted between the screen and the front of Paul’s office building.

  Nothing for me here today. You?

  Nothing yet, Madigan replied and shoved the phone back in her pocket as a tall man in a suit caught her eye. He hustled across the street toward the front doors of the building.

  That looks like him.

  She stood and rushed across the street toward the building, darting in between cars as he disappeared through the front doors. She remained on the sidewalk and glanced through the glass windows as he walked past the large, black marbled security desk to the elevators.

  I need to make sure it’s him.

  She turned back and slipped through the doors, pulling a baseball cap out of her bag as she passed the security desk on the way to the elevators.

  “Excuse me,” a man at the desk said with a slight French accent. “Ma’am.”

  “Delivering mail,” Madigan said, grabbing the envelopes she brought and holding them up.

  “From where?” he asked as the elevator doors dinged and slid open.

  I’m going to lose him.

  “Courthouse, and if I don’t get this to Mr. Smith now, I’ll let him know you’re the reason why.”

  He raised his brow, and behind him, the possible Paul Rothman followed a woman into the elevator.

  “I’m going to need to see some I.D.” he said. “You’re not the regular guy.”

  “I’m not the postman,” she muttered, grabbing her I.D. “I’m the legal courier.”

  “Well, we don’t usually get those here.”

  The elevator doors slid to a close as she handed him her card.

  What’s he even going to do with that?

  He turned it over, read the back, and set it on his desk. “You can get it on your way out.”

  “Fine,” she called, skidding to a stop in front of the elevator as the display above stopped at the number seven. She waited, her heart pumping as it continued up to the ninth floor.

  I saw two people in the elevator. He has to be on one of those, but by the time I get up there, he’ll be inside. I need a reason to ask for him.

  A delivery, but a real one. These envelopes have my name on them. I need something real.

  She ran back out to the doors.

  “Hey, your I.D.!” security called.

  “Be right back!”

  She skirted past the crowds on the sidewalk, crossed the same road Paul had, and jogged to the flower shop down the street. A bucket of red carnations sat by the door.

  No, it has to be a rose. Same thing Raven got.

  She purchased a single, long-stem rose and ran back to the building, past security with it.

  “Flowers?” security scoffed.

  “A flower… And I don’t question how you do your job,” she sputtered, marching to the elevator.

  She got in and pushed the seven button, getting off, and stepping into a long hallway with no doors that led to one set of glass doors at the end. She pushed through them and stood in front of a secretary with a headset and a name tag.

  Rachel.

  “Delivery for Paul Rothman,” Madigan said in a hushed tone, checking around her and keeping her head down and the rim of her hat low.

  Rachel frowned. “Who?”

  “Paul Rothman. I was told a Rachel would accept them for him.”

  “I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.”

  “Wrong floor,” Madigan muttered and strode out, back to the elevator.

  She pressed the nine button, and the doors opened to a bustling, open office concept with a small, empty reception desk ahead.

  “Can I help you?” a man asked as he walked past.

  “Delivery for Paul Rothman.”

  The man shrugged and shook his head. “Doesn’t work here.”

  “Do you know where he works?”

  “I don’t know him.”

  What? How?

  She stepped back into the elevator, and as it took her back to the lobby, it stopped on the fifth floor. A woman got in and stood in the opposite corner as she rode down.

  “Excuse me,” Madigan asked. “Do you work with a Paul Rothman?”

  She shook her head.

  What do I do now?

  The doors dinged open, and she followed the woman toward the front doors.

  “Madigan!” a male voice called to her.

  She swiveled around to see the security man holding her I.D. up. As she approached the desk, he stood.

  “You work for the court and the flower shop?” he asked, withholding the card.

  “Girl’s gotta make a living somehow.” She reached for it, and he handed it to her. She held up the rose. “This is for Paul Rothman. Do I have the right building?”

  He tilted his head to the side and frowned.

  “Not going to tell me, are you?” she muttered.

  He shook his head.

  “If he were here, would you give them to him?”

  The security guard remained expressionless, and she turned and skulked out of the building, onto the busy street once again.

  Did I miss him? Were there three people on the elevator? Was it even him? I need visual confirmation.

  If it was him, and he went in, he’ll have to come out.

  She crossed the street again but took a spot adjacent to the front doors.

  I hope if he’s in there, he likes to go out for lunch.

  “Hey,” Mac whispered, rubbing his eyes as he entered the kitchen and joined Grace at the table. “Couldn’t sleep last night?”

  “I slept a bit,” she said, but he cocked his head to the side, and she groaned. “Fine, no. I couldn’t. I can’t shake the feeling that whatever’s going on with Tyler Gibbons’ death is connected to Donelle Gaines’ death, and even you and the anti-theory code you live by have to admit that there are so many connections.”

  He sighed. “I need coffee for this.”

  “In the pot,” she muttered, turning her focus back to the file. “Here’s the thing: from what
we know, there were no witnesses the night Donelle died. The security guard saw Tyler leaving the college, but he couldn’t say at what exact time, so he couldn’t be fully ruled out as being involved with Donelle’s death. Now we have reports that corroborate Donelle exhibited signs of depression, but her doctor hadn’t given any statement to confirm a diagnosis. We also have the statement from Roger that they were all getting tired of Donelle, her father’s strict rules, and the fact that she couldn’t have as much fun anymore, except for Mia. They were also helping her in class, and maybe Tyler had been even more than we know. Maybe he was frustrated with her that night.”

  “Enough to push her off the side of a building?”

  “Maybe not, which is why I’m thinking about their romantic involvement. No one could fully deny it. What if Donelle had gotten attached, and Tyler didn’t want that? What if she knew something about him she was threatening to reveal?”

  Mac poured his coffee into his personal mug and raised his brow.

  “Like what?” Grace asked for him. “Well, what if Tyler and Joel really did take ideas from Derek and others, as his statement and legal action lead us to consider?”

  “Those are a lot of what ifs, and this case is about Tyler Gibbons. Not Donelle Gaines.”

  “Or is it?” She sighed and took a sip of cold coffee, cringing as he sat across from her.

  “Tyler Gibbons,” Mac muttered. “Was it suicide after discovering the lawsuit against him? An accident in his new car with the brakes? Or did someone cut his brakes and set him up to die?”

  “I know those are the questions, and I don’t have the answers. That’s why I’ve been looking into this case, and I can’t help but think…”

  “What?” he asked.

  “It’s another theory.”

  He pressed his lips together.

  “If it’s not about Tyler, it would be about the man who wanted revenge against him, and while Joel definitely has some motive, Charles Gaines’ motive is stronger.”

  Mac licked his lips and stared at the file folder. “Find anything new?”

  “No, but I want to look into this more.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been waiting until a decent hour to reach out to the security guard from the night Donelle died.”