Power Struggle

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Follow me.” Madison turned and walked toward a grouping of chairs. She got to a bench and took a seat. “Here, Mom. You sit beside me.” She looked past her mom to her dad. “And you sit beside her.”

  Her father sat down, but her mother was stubbornly refusing to.

  “I don’t like this one bit. What’s happened? Is it Chelsea? The girls?” Her mother pushed out the questions as if it was hard labor, her cheeks starting to flame, her blood pressure seemingly rising.

  “Please, Mom, sit.”

  “Tell me,” she barked, but her fear was disclosed in the trembling of her bottom lip.

  If Madison could make the woman sit, she would, but she made Madison seem compliant by comparison. Her mother’s face was resting in a scowl, but her eyes were full of tears. Madison didn’t doubt her when she’d said she could read her and knew that something was wrong.

  “Fine. You want to remain standing—”

  “I do.” Her mother jutted out her chin stubbornly.

  Madison took a deep breath and blew it out. Suddenly it was as if the entire airport had fallen into silence, and there was no one else around but her parents. She took a few seconds to compose herself, and her mother put a hand over her mouth.

  Time to come out with it. “Chelsea’s been abducted. We’re—”

  “Oh!” her mother gasped, dropping her now-trembling hand.

  “We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

  “My god, Noah! A psychopath has my daughter!” her mother cried out, and her legs buckled. Her bag and purse fell to the floor, and Madison moved quickly to buoy her mother before she joined them. Her mom let her guide her by the elbow to the bench.

  Once she had her mother safely seated, Madison looked over at her father. His eyes were full of tears now, too. Her mother was staring into space.

  “When did this happen?” he asked.

  “We believe she was taken this—” How could she possibly tell him this morning and explain why she hadn’t called them. She didn’t find out until this afternoon, but still… Her mother had reached out to her first.

  “When?” Her mother had a bunched-up tissue in her hand, which she must have taken out of her coat pocket.

  There would be no easy way to say this and no way around it. “This morning.”

  “This morning!” Anger swept over her mother’s features. “She was taken this morning and you didn’t tell us? Did you plan on telling us?”

  Emotion welled up in Madison’s throat and tears burned her eyes, but she willed herself to remain strong. She had to provide a beacon of hope for her family and instill confidence in them that she would get Chelsea back. And with that thought, she replayed her conversation with Andrea, how she’d officially been removed from actively taking part in the search. Surely, Andrea had just meant she didn’t want her showing up at Russian business fronts. Maybe she should have clarified. Maybe it wasn’t as black-and-white as Andrea had made it seem.

  “Madison?” her father prompted. “When did you find out?”

  She swallowed roughly. “Just this afternoon.”

  Her mother burst out in a fit of crying, her hands cupping her mouth as tears flowed. She was starting to draw the attention of people walking by, many of whom offered solemn, sympathetic faces. Her father put an arm around his wife.

  “We’re doing all we can to find her and get her back,” Madison said, though fear and doubt snaked through her.

  Her mother sniffled and pressed the well-used tissue to her nose. “Was it the Mafia?”

  Madison’s mouth gaped open at her mother’s conclusion. “The Maf—”

  “I know you’ve been after them because of your grandfather’s murder. Did you stir them up?”

  Madison swallowed roughly. “We have reason to believe—”

  “Be straight with us, Madison.”

  Madison bit her lip and nodded. “Yes,” she said simply.

  Her mother started crying in earnest again but managed to get out, “What have you done, Madison?”

  Madison’s chest splintered with the attack. Her breath hitched, and she bit down on her bottom lip, hoping to hold back the tears. But a few fell anyway.

  Her father was rubbing her mother’s arms. “This isn’t Madison’s fault.”

  Her mother said nothing, and by doing so, said it all: she held Madison responsible, and Madison alone.

  -

  CHAPTER

  36

  MADISON GOT HER PARENTS SETTLED into the spare room at Troy’s house. Jim and the girls were set up in the living room, and he’d done his best to sell the experience as a slumber party, but none of the girls were buying it. They wanted their mother, and none of the adults could blame them.

  Madison and Troy were in the master bedroom with Hershey, who wasn’t his normal self, either. He pawed at his bed in the corner of the room, spun enough times to make Madison dizzy, and finally dropped with a sigh.

  “Why hasn’t he called?” She drew her legs to her chest, her back against the wall.

  Troy didn’t say anything, but what did she expect him to say? She glanced over at him and found him watching her with evident concern.

  “We know that Constantine has an ego, is a narcissist, and loves the power of being in control.”

  “Which is an illusion,” she said slowly as her shrink’s words struck her. She hopped from the bed. “We need to destroy his illusion,” she ruminated. “But how?”

  “Good question. But when we do, he’s going to lash out.”

  “And that means…” Oh, she hated where her thinking was headed. “I need to give him evidence that his calling the shots is getting to me.” It was the opposite of how she’d been thinking up until this point. Her pride would have shot down the notion of showing him that he was affecting her.

  Troy shifted on the bed, sitting up straighter. “You might be on to something with this. You let Constantine know he’s got power over you, and—”

  “Well, let him believe that anyway,” she corrected him. The truth was, Constantine was affecting her.

  “He’s going to feel in control, like he’s won this little game of his.”

  “And that should keep Chelsea safe. But how do I make it clear to him that he’s getting to me?”

  “That part is tricky,” Troy conceded. “At least until he makes contact with you.”

  She nodded and looked at the clock. 2:05 AM.

  “At this point, I’d guess he’s holding out until morning.” She shuttered as she thought about her sister. She must be terrified.

  Madison’s thoughts turned darker still, and her heart started beating faster as the images of Constantine assaulting her piled on, terrorizing her and threatening to consume her alive. She could feel herself slipping, the flashbacks tugging her into the past.

  Troy rushed to her and kept her standing. “I’ve got you.”

  She peered into his eyes, and all she saw was love. This was all it took for the dam holding back her emotions to break. Her body shook, and she cried in heaving sobs.

  Hershey lifted his head and came over. Troy patted Hershey on the head and directed him to go back to his bed. Troy then got up and guided Madison back to bed, too.

  She palmed her cheeks. “I need her to be okay.” She couldn’t look at him now, as if by doing so she’d be more overcome with emotion than she already was.

  “I know, baby.” He gently brushed the hair away from her forehead. The action was so sweet and soothing that her tears started to dry up, but it didn’t make the ache in her chest go away. But it had set in when she knew Constantine had her sister and it likely wouldn’t ease up until Chelsea was safely back at home.

  “If only I knew where she was.” She braved looking at him, and the feeling of desperation sank in her gut. She was so used to having the answers, or at least th
e strength to find them. “How am I supposed to—”

  “Shh,” he cooed.

  She leaned forward, putting her ear over his heartbeat.

  Troy let her stay there for some time before he pulled back. “Get some rest.”

  She blinked as she nodded, and the last of the tears trailed down her cheeks.

  -

  CHAPTER

  37

  MADISON’S SLEEP WAS RESTLESS AND she saw most hours on the clock, but when she was out, she had strange dreams that were more a series of images than anything that made sense. But then again, how often were dreams logical?

  Mental snapshots from Yasmine’s murder scene had paraded through her mind: her dead body, how young and beautiful she was, and how tragic it was that her life had been cut short. But it was the motivation for it that was still missing. Madison had a confirmed connection to Constantine as Kevin Jones, but had she been telling the truth when she’d said that she didn’t know what he did for work or had she been covering it up? And how did her affair with McAlexandar tie in? Had he actually been pushed to pull the trigger for some reason? To protect his lifestyle? To keep the affair from his wife? The questions piled up higher and higher. She just couldn’t accept that Bates’s and Yasmine’s murders, which took place within days of each other, were coincidence.

  Yasmine’s face had morphed into Bates’s and brought with it the bloody murder scene with scarlet everywhere. How devoid of emotion she still was when it came to his death. She hadn’t been able to get past the feeling of Karma being repaid.

  As images of Bates faded, those of Constantine looming above her became vivid—his smirk, his energy, his intention to defile her before murdering her.

  She jolted awake with a racing heart. She read the alarm clock on Troy’s dresser. 6:00 AM.

  She reached out to Troy’s side of the bed and looked over when her hand met with nothing. He must have already gotten up for the day. She glanced over at Hershey’s bed, and he was gone, too. She wondered when the two of them had slipped out. The last time she remembered being up was four o’clock.

  As her mind cleared and she shook off her grogginess, chatter filtered in from the other room. She could hear her mother’s voice above everyone else’s.

  Madison got out of bed, slipped a robe over her pajamas, grabbed her phone, and left the room. She padded down the hall in bare feet and found her nieces in the living room playing with Hershey. He let out a bark and pranced around in front of them while Marissa dangled a rope toy from her hand.

  “Morning, guys,” Madison said to her nieces, still moving in the direction of the adults.

  Her mom and dad and Jim were all at the kitchen table cradling cups of coffee while Troy was at the counter holding a mug in one hand and the pot in the other.

  Troy put the mug down, stopping short of pouring a cup, and came over to her. He stopped in front of her, wrapped his arms around her, and hugged her. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He dropped a kiss on her earlobe and then on her lips.

  She appreciated his love and affection, but was having a hard time swallowing the good part of his greeting. She was numb while everyone carried on around her.

  “Hi.” She touched Troy’s cheek and held his gaze for a few seconds. He left to return to the coffee machine. “Hello,” she said to her family.

  “Hi, honey,” her father said.

  Her mother now appeared almost comatose, and Madison had to wonder if it was her presence, as she seemed to have been talking a lot before Madison had come into the room. But maybe she’d said everything she had to say. Unlikely, though. This was her mother, and she had something to say about everything.

  Troy held the pot toward her. “Want some?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  A subtle smirk touched his lips, and he poured the cup he had been going to take for himself and proceeded to make it how she liked it. He extended it to her. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She kissed him on the cheek and wandered over to the table. She sat down at the end between her brother-in-law and her father.

  Her mother only glimpsed at her when Troy sat down across from Madison.

  “Why hasn’t the man called yet?” her mother asked Troy.

  “We believe that he’s trying to—”

  “Sometimes there is no explaining a psychopath.” Madison was quick to cut Troy short. The last thing she needed was for him to say that Constantine was using Chelsea to get to Madison. Her mother already laid blame on Madison’s shoulders and didn’t need any more fuel to justify doing so.

  “That’s ludicrous!” her mother exclaimed. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? That’s your job as a cop. It’s called profiling.”

  “Mrs. Knight—” Troy put a hand on her mother’s forearm “—we can only best-guess situations, but we have good reason to believe that we’ll get her back safely.” His gaze kept flicking to Madison while he spoke, as if silently seeking her approval of what he was saying.

  “Why?” her mother snapped. “Is there a guarantee?”

  “There’s never a guarantee, Mom. That’s life,” Madison blurted out. Screw it. Maybe she should just come out and tell her mom, make it clear what a failure she was and how she’d brought all of this on them. “I’m the one he’s after, and he’s using Chelsea to get to me.”

  Jim rubbed his jaw. Her father was staring across the table. Her mother’s mouth rested in a scowl, and her gaze was blank. Troy was the only one meeting Madison’s eyes.

  “Did you hear me? All of this is my fault,” she burst out.

  The girls in the other room fell silent. Layer on the guilt. Layer on the things to feel sorry for.

  Anxiety bloomed in Madison’s chest. “I am doing everything I can to bring her back. The Stiles police department is, too. But he wants me.”

  “He is using Chels as bait,” Jim stated on an exhale.

  Her mother shot him a glare that could freeze the Caribbean. “To get to my other daughter!” Her mother cried out, and the girls came into the kitchen and gathered around their grandmother.

  Brie was crying, and Jim scooped her into his arms and set her on his lap.

  Madison heard a subdued ringing sound, and it was coming from the pocket of her robe. She stood up and fumbled with getting to it fast enough. “Knight,” she answered and took off down the hall toward the bedroom for privacy.

  “Maddy, help me!” Chelsea begged.

  Her sister was crying and hysterical, but she was alive.

  Fear gripped Madison’s chest. “Where are you?”

  Sniffles and crying.

  Madison closed the bedroom door. “Chels, stay with me. Are you okay? Has he hurt you?”

  “He’s…he’s going to—”

  “Chels! I’m going to find you. Do you hear me?”

  “I don’t have long. Please, Mad—” Her sister shrieked as her words were cut off.

  “Chels?” Madison’s heart was pounding, her blood pressure rising by the second.

  “Ticktock.” A man’s voice and one she recognized.

  Her stomach dropped. It was Constantine, the man who’d haunted her mind for the better part of the last ten months. She could hear the muffled cries of her sister in the background. “I’m going to kill you with my bare hands, you son of—”

  “Now, now. You have such passion for me. When we meet again, we can carry on from where we left off before you shot me.” His tone was psychotic, flavored with the sweet overtures of a fallen angel.

  Troy stepped into the bedroom and locked the door behind him.

  “If you lay one finger on her—”

  “Mere words, Detective,” Constantine interrupted. “And you and I both know it.”

  Suddenly a calm came over Madison, a cool blanket of clarity. If anything, her outburst and promise to kill him
would have been enough to disclose her turmoil, but it could also be construed as her fighting against him, of refusing to be controlled. She had to make him believe she was bowing to his power and letting him call the shots. If that’s what was necessary to save her sister’s life, then it was certainly worth the blow to her ego.

  “I’ll do whatever you want.” Being submissive to him was gripping her gut mercilessly. “Just tell me.”

  “Huh.” He sounded amused, like he was smiling into the phone. “You’ll meet us at eight thirty tonight.”

  “Just tell me where.”

  “Now, now. That would be kind of stupid of me to give you time to do your research, have that SWAT boyfriend of yours plan out his approach to take me down.”

  Madison spun to look at Troy. Constantine did know about him.

  “And when you come,” he continued, “bring what is mine.”

  What is his?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  He didn’t respond.

  “When will you tell me where to meet you?”

  Constantine laughed, and then the line went dead.

  She pitched her phone across the room with such force, it made a hole in the drywall before falling to the carpet.

  “She was… Chels was…” The sound of her sister crying stabbed at her.

  Troy moved in front of her and placed his hands on her forearms. “Just breathe.”

  She bucked against him. “I don’t have time to—”

  He tightened his hold on her. “You keep this up, and he’ll be the one winning.”

  Anger festered within her as she met his gaze. “I did everything we talked about last night. I let him call the shots. But your sister, she wants me off this. How can I—”

  His hold on her arms remained firm, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You think she’s right about this? You thought the same last night.” She shrugged free of him.

  “I think you need to step back.”

  She scanned his eyes, partially not believing what she was hearing. “My sister is in the hands of a psychopath.” She realized she’d used her mother’s terminology again—not that it was far off the mark—and couldn’t care less.