“Places I go it’s better if the car doesn’t run too well,” Charlie says. “Less chance of it being stolen.”
“It can also leave you stranded somewhere.”
“You’re right.” He reaches for a pack of cigarettes. Glancing in the rearview mirror at Madrigal, he thinks better of it. “Ready?” he asks her reflection.
Snapping on her seat belt, she flashes him one of her incandescent smiles. “Yes.”
Washington, DC, is a small city, and it takes no time at all to arrive at our destination in the Trinidad area. Home of the Fifth District and the place I once called home.
The house we’ve pulled up to looks like it’s one step from being condemned. A screen door’s torn in several places, and one of the hinges is broken. A couple of floorboards on the porch have come loose, and the steps leading to it don’t appear too secure. Rather than have Madrigal chance them, I pick her up and drop her on the porch.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she protests.
“Yes, I did.” I skip lightly over the steps and land safely on the porch.
With a shake of his head, Charlie braves the wood and arrives next to us without a mishap. He’s the one who knocks on the door. “He’s expecting us.”
The door screeches open to reveal a man who’s clearly a tweaker going by his dodgy eyes and the scabs on his arms. Charlie offered him money to talk to us, but still there’s a wary look about him.
“Mr. Haynes. I’m Charlie White.”
When Haynes doesn’t invite us in, I ask, “May we come in?”
“Yeah.” Stepping back, he opens the door wide enough for all three of us to enter. I try not to gag from the stench. There’s no air-conditioning, and the place reeks of urine, vomit, and God knows what else.
“Can we crack a window?” I ask.
“And let the flies in? Don’t think so.”
Madrigal huffs out a breath, probably trying not to react to the smell. The couch has a couple of springs sticking out, and there’s only the one wooden chair in front of an ancient TV. I take off my jacket and spread it on the couch for her. “Go on. Sit.”
“I’m not a dog,” she mumbles under her breath.
“Sorry for the smell,” Haynes says. “The toilet backed up this morning.”
That explains the stench of the place. Wonder what his excuse is. He smells worse than the house.
“We’ll make it quick.” I doubt Madrigal will last long here. She’s blowing puffs of air trying not to breathe.
“We wanted to talk to you about the events surrounding the night of April 8, 2002,” Charlie says.
“You’re not cops, right?”
“No.”
“So, what happened that night?” I ask, wanting to get on with it.
“Well, Billy and me, we were working at that house.” His gaze cuts to Madrigal, who’s retrieved her netbook from her bag and is quietly taking notes.
“The Berkeleys?” I prompt.
“Yeah, that’s right. We were doing odd jobs in the yard, the house, small stuff. The lady was real nice; she made sure we got food and drinks. I’d blown all my money on blow, so I sure appreciated the food. The house—man, it was like a fairy-tale castle. Full of nice stuff—furniture, paintings on the wall, shiny things. When Billy heard the staff had the night off, he got it in his head to rob the place. I didn’t want to. Like I said, the lady was real nice, feeding us and stuff. But Billy was hard to say no to. So that night we broke into the place. Took a few things and left. Cops nabbed us the next day before we had a chance to get rid of any of it, carted me off to jail. Billy they had to take to the hospital.”
“He resisted arrest?” Not a guess on my part. Charlie had mentioned it.
“Yeah. They shot him in the leg.”
“They searched your house?”
“Yeah, when they came to arrest us. I’d taken a photo frame. Real pretty one with the family’s picture in it. And a shiny platter. They were made of silver. The rest of the stuff we hid in the backyard shed. They found those things too.”
“Did you give them permission to look there?”
“No, sir. They busted the lock on the shed. All the stuff was there we took. Real nice TV.” He looks forlornly at the miserable excuse sitting not a foot from him. “Wish I had one that nice.”
“Mr. Haynes, when you broke into the house, did an alarm go off?”
“No. The police asked us if we’d turned it off, but we didn’t. We didn’t know how.”
“You never learned to disable an alarm?”
“No. Billy had a partner who did, but he was doing time in Jessup, so Billy was stuck with me. He thought we’d just grab what we could and get out fast. Which we did. Come to find out later the alarm never went off.”
“Did you hear anything, anything at all while you were in the house?”
“Nothing. Well, except a clock.”
“A clock?”
“Yes. One of those tall things that chimes.”
“Made from cherrywood, about six feet high?” Madrigal asks.
“Don’t know about the wood, but the height seems about right.” He squints at her. “You look like her, the nice lady at the house. She was beautiful, just like you. And nice.”
“That’s because she was my mother,” Madrigal says.
God damn it to hell.
“Mr. Haynes,” Madrigal says.
Michael blinks a couple of times. “Call me Mikey. That’s what everyone calls me.”
“Thank you, Mikey. There’s something I need to know.”
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“Did you kill my mother?”
Not for one second does he hesitate. “No, ma’am. We just robbed the place.”
Her hands tremble as she quietly closes the netbook. “Can we go now?” She stands, shaking all over.
“Yes, of course.” I rise and put my arm around her for support.
“Where’s my money?” Michael Haynes asks.
“Here.” I grab a couple of hundred-dollar bills from my slacks and hand them over while I avoid touching any part of him. God only knows what diseases he’s carrying around.
When we reach the outside, I haul Madrigal into my arms and hurry toward the car.
“Put me down. I can stand.”
“No,” I say, climbing into the backseat with her.
A minute later Charlie emerges from the house and gets behind the wheel. Without saying a word, he peels away from the curb.
“He didn’t do it,” Madrigal says in a shaky voice.
“He’s lying,” I grind out.
“No, he’s not. My parents were already dead by the time they broke into the house.”
“You don’t know that, Madrigal.”
“Yes. I do. Every night before my parents retired for the night, my father checked the alarm. They didn’t trip it and they didn’t know enough to turn it off. But somebody else knew the alarm existed. That person turned it off.”
“Of course he would say he didn’t kill them. Don’t you understand that?”
“She’s right, Steele,” Charlie volunteers from the front. “Neither had the technical know-how to dismantle the alarm. They were the smash-and-grab kind. They’d break in, grab what they could in five minutes, and get out. They were good at cleaning out a place before the cops could get there. Except in this case the cops never did. It wasn’t until the next morning, when the servants returned, that the Berkeleys were found. Which means either her father never set the alarm or someone who knew how to turn it off killed them.”
“Someone who knew them intimately.”
“I’m sorry.” Madrigal can’t stop shaking. “I need to get home, take a hot bath.”
“You’re in no shape to drive home. Your grandfather will know immediately that something’s wrong. I’m ta
king you to my condo.”
In the garage, I slide her into my Jag, snap on her seat belt. I toss my jacket in the backseat to be fumigated. Or, even better, destroyed. The stink of that hellhole clings to it, and I doubt it can be removed.
“I can’t leave my car.”
“Charlie will drive it to my place. He can take a taxi back here. Give him your keys.” She hands them over without a single protest.
I drive to my condo. After I pull into my parking space, we ride the elevator in silence. Once we arrive at the penthouse, I ask, “Would you like a bath?”
“Yes, but I don’t have anything to wear.”
“I’ll get you one of my shirts. We can toss your things in the washer if you like.” The stink of that place clings to her clothes and mine.
“Okay.”
“Are you hungry? I can whip up something or order in if you’d like.”
“You know how to cook?”
“I told you I worked at an Italian restaurant.”
“I thought you worked as a waiter.”
“No, a chef.”
“Fine,” she responds without any emotion. She’s still numb from what she discovered at Michael Haynes’s house.
“What would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
Oh, she’ll be surprised all right.
CHAPTER 20
Madrigal
After I hand him my clothes, I slip into his Jacuzzi. This morning I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to bring my emergency toiletries kit, so I’m forced to use his body wash, the one that smells like that woodsy citrus scent of his.
Once I’m done with the bath, I slip into one of his shirts. I find him in the kitchen where he’s tossing something around in a pan. He’s showered as well and thrown on a loose pair of sweats and a long-sleeved Henley. He hasn’t allowed me to see his bare arms. He refused to take off his shirt last time we had sex. Which, of course, makes me curious as to why this is so.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yes, the bath helped. I don’t feel so cold anymore.”
“Good.”
“What are you cooking?” I point to the pan.
“I’m caramelizing walnuts for a Waldorf salad. Hope you like it.”
“I do.” What’s not to like about apples and walnuts in a bed of greens? “When I was younger, Gramps would take Madison and me to New York City during Christmas. We’d shop, catch a show at Radio City Music Hall. We always stayed at the Waldorf Astoria where I’d order their signature salad for lunch.”
He glances up from his task. “Do you still go?”
“No. The trips stopped when I went off to college. When I came home for Christmas break, I preferred to stay home, not traipse off to New York. Besides, it’s easier to order presents online than to fight the crowds at the stores. I do miss the Christmas bustle of the Big Apple, though. New York’s a magical place during the holidays.”
“Maybe you can go again this year.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. Neither Madison nor I are children anymore. And Gramps is not up to gallivanting around New York City, not with his health issues.”
He finishes up with the walnuts and pours them into an empty bowl. “We’ll let them cool off a bit before I toss them in with the salad. Would you like some wine?”
“Please.” I may no longer be shell-shocked, but I’m still shaky from what we discovered today.
He has a bottle waiting on the counter that he’s already decanted and allowed to breathe. He pours a glass for me, another one for him.
Over the rim of his glass he watches as I sip the red wine. It goes down easy, smooth.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do. It’s fruity but not too sweet. Tastes like cherry. What is it?”
“A Barbera d’Asti Superiore.”
“You know your wines.”
“Had to learn them when I worked for the restaurant. I put your clothes in the washer.” He motions toward the back of the condo. Who knew he was this domestic?
“I appreciate it.” I shiver as I recall the place we visited. “The smell of that house. How can he live like that?”
“As a prosecutor, you may have to inspect crime scenes much worse than Michael Haynes’s place,” he says, sipping his wine.
“Will I?”
“And witnesses don’t all live in nice, clean homes.” He hitches a shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”
And just like that, I’m suddenly cold again. Seeking reassurance, I dart a nervous glance at him. “Will I?”
“You don’t realize it, but you’re strong. You couldn’t have survived otherwise. Something in you fought back from the darkness after your parents’ murders.”
He knows so much about me, and yet he’s never talked about his life. Joss filled me in on his childhood, but it’s not the same as if his story were coming from him. Only he can tell me what he went through. If he shares his past, I won’t feel like he has all the power in our relationship. “Where did you grow up?”
“DC. Not far from the place we visited today.”
“You lived in that neighborhood?” My heart goes out to him. Joss warned me his childhood had been rough. Was his home like the one we saw today? God, I hope not. “Must have been difficult.”
His glance does not encourage confidences, but I push through. “Tell me about when you were a boy.”
He rests his goblet on the counter and checks whatever is cooking in the oven. I’ve already learned that whenever he wants to avoid a question, he busies himself. Fine. I’ll let him. For now. But I’m not giving up until he tells me.
I climb on the high-back barstool on the other side of the kitchen island. “Whatever’s in the oven smells delicious.”
“Rosemary potatoes. They’ll be ready in half an hour. I have a couple of flank steaks marinating in the refrigerator as well.”
“Comfort food.”
“You need it. Don’t worry, Madrigal, we’ll figure things out.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” And the panic returns.
“What do you mean?”
“All my life, I’ve known Michael Haynes and Billy Johnson were responsible for my parents’ murders. But now?” I bite my lip. “I’m back to square one. And I’m afraid of what we’ll find out.”
Having finished with the potatoes, he turns around and picks up his wineglass. “Explain it to me.”
I twist my lips. “Can’t you see? They didn’t disable the alarm. They didn’t have the know-how. But somebody else did. Someone who knew it existed in the first place. That points to only a few people—servants, family, close friends.”
He takes a moment to pour more wine. “Has it occurred to you that your father may not have set the alarm that night?”
Clutching the glass, I take a healthy swallow. The alcohol may have mellowed me, but I still have a long way to go before I calm down. “No. A friend of ours had his house broken into, and my father never forgot that.”
“What about the alarm company? They knew about the installation. Wouldn’t be the first time an employee hooked up with someone to break into a house.”
“To do what? Steal? On the same night Billy Johnson and Michael Haynes did? That’s a hell of a coincidence. And whoever broke in—why did they beat my mother, torture her? It makes no sense. Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“It was someone looking for answers. They killed my father to get him out of the way, and then they tortured her until she gave them what they wanted. But what could it have been?” A wave of nausea hits me, and I run to the sink where I fight the urge to throw up. Shouldn’t have drunk so much so fast.
“Hey.” He rubs my back. “Take deep breaths.”
I take a gulp of air and another. Slowly the nausea recedes. Straightening, I ga
ze at the pan. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can eat. And here you’ve made such a lovely meal.”
“Don’t worry about it. The food will keep.”
“I just can’t stop picturing the way she looked in the casket.”
He cups my chin and drops a kiss on my lips. “We’ll figure it out together. I promise you.”
I let out a shaky breath as the tension drains from me. How does he make me believe everything will be all right? I don’t know the answer. All I know is I feel like I finally have someone in my corner, someone who’ll help me discover the truth. But what does he get out of helping me? “Why are you being so nice, Steele?”
He sweeps my hair back, tucks it behind my ear. “Damned if I know.”
I laugh at his joke, and his eyes take on that silver hue I love. Needing to touch some part of him, I curl my fingers around his jaw. Ever one to take advantage, he sucks my thumb into his mouth and bites down on the tip. Lightning streaks down to my pussy, and cream pours out of me, drenching my panties. I want him so bad I can taste it. “Make love to me, Steele.”
A sensuous grin curls his lips, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “I don’t make love, sweet girl. I fuck.”
A reminder not to get attached to him. I won’t. “Whatever you want to call it.” I peek up at him through my lashes. “Please.”
His mouth hitches up at one corner. “How can I resist such a plea?” He gathers me into his arms and walks to the bedroom where he lays me on the bed. Kneeling in front of me, he peels off the shirt he lent me. He grins, probably because I’m wearing nothing underneath. He captures a breast and thumbs its peak. It hardens just for him.
“Your turn,” I say.
He rises and tosses his sweatpants to the floor, grabs a condom from his night table, rolls it over him.
“Your shirt?” I ask. “Please, Steele, I want to see all of you.”
He hesitates a moment before he peels it off as well.
I gasp, not only from the beauty of him but because of the puckered scars on his forearms. I run a trembling hand over one of them. “What happened?”
“My father liked to put cigarettes out on me.”
My vision blurs. “I’m so sorry.” I lean forward and kiss each scar while he cups the back of my head and allows my benediction to roll over his skin.
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