For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1)

by Megan Mitcham

  “We have the local and United Kingdom’s permission to review this case as it relates to a three year investigation of crimes committed on US soil.”

  She blinked her tears away and propped a hand on her hip. “How do you know where Nichole and Jim live and when he gets off work?”

  “It was a long flight. And contrary to your low opinion of my work ethic, I used the time to familiarize myself with the details.”

  Madelyn gnawed her cheek in contrition. With her hefty armor ever so lightly lowered, he seized the opportunity. “Have you ever been or are you currently in a relationship with Adrian Tau?”

  “No.” She gawked at him as though he’d suggested she sacrifice her first born to please the gods.

  “How is it he knows so much about you and Nichole Gallow?”

  “We’re on the Community Development Committee together.” She pinned him with a sideways glance.

  “Which…” he prodded.

  “Which meets one to ten times a month depending on the projects we have going. Last year we raised money to install safe playground equipment in the town’s square. When we manage to raise enough money, we’ll construct an actual football field next to the playground.”

  Her face lit and a smile tiptoed around the corners of her mouth. “It’ll be real grass with two large net goals. Most of the kids have never played on a proper field. It will keep them from dodging cars and getting their balls run over.” She paused, scrunched her mouth together, and turned the cutest shade of red. “Their soccer ball.” She used air quotes and corrected, “Footballs.”

  “Is that or driving on the wrong side of the road harder to get used to?”

  Her eyes nearly closed as she thought. “The sports references by far.” She nodded and then looked around. As though she’d just remembered where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, her shoulders straightened. “So, are you at least going to look through the window or let me go in and see if he locked her in the bureau?”

  He opened his mouth, but music erupted from her Jeep and Miranda Lambert’s voice followed.

  “Slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll

  Don't that sound like a real man

  I'm gonna show him what a little girl's a made of

  Gunpowder and lead”

  Her wide eyes and hasty retreat were almost as telling as her ringtone selection. A picture of Madelyn Garrett’s past formed in his mind and he didn’t like it one damn bit. He’d wondered why she’d left her family behind and moved to a spec of land in the middle of an ocean. The answer glared in her every move. Someone had hurt her and done a hell of a job of it.

  She climbed onto the dirty running board and leaned into the opened top vehicle. The song died before it hit the verse. Her hand clutched the top roll bar as though she’d never release the thing, but finally she sank to the ground.

  Sensing her hesitance, Nathan stood and took one step in her direction. Her muscles tensed as though she might flee. He stilled. His hands rested by his sides.

  “Sorry, I’ve had the thing for about four hours now and I don’t know how to turn down the volume yet. It’s been a while since I used one and it was about as big as your hand and only made phone calls and old-school texts.” Madelyn Garrett’s dark eyes swelled.

  A smirk nearly betrayed him, but he bit it back. “Who set your ring tone?”

  “The guy at the store showed me…” She placed the fingers of her right hand over her mouth. “The guy at the store.”

  “I need to…” they said in unison.

  Nathan drew a deep breath. “I need to ask you some more questions, but I get the feeling you need to go.”

  Madelyn nodded that slight move of her head. And then she smiled. It wasn’t a big one or maybe even genuine, but her lips curved on either side. As stupid and sappy as it was, he’d swear angels cried.

  She flit her fingers in a wave, opened the door, and then met his gaze again. “I have questions for you too…later.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  “I have some things to do tonight, but I’ll be around tomorrow. Do you have a card or—”

  “I’ll find you.”

  “Will you find my friend?”

  Just shank him in the gut and twist the knife. “One way or another, I’ll find her.”

  7

  The children’s screaming laughter lifted Madelyn’s spirits, even though they laughed at her. To be correct, they laughed at her and the poor kid groaning and rolling on the sand. She’d worked the football past mid-field and was clipping along at a good pace. She dribbled around a defender and on to the goal, but miss-stepped and slammed right into him. Not one of her best moves.

  Granules scraped across her hand as she brushed away the sand caked to her sweaty legs. She rubbed away the soreness in her side where his elbow had connected with her ribs. Then she leaned forward, lopped her arms under Sauda’s pits, and hoisted.

  “Nice defense,” she gasped.

  The poor guy stayed crouched, bracing his hands on his knees.

  Games usually lasted until lunchtime and often picked back up in the evenings as the sun began to fall off the sky. Guilt plagued her through the first match. Having fun while her friend was missing seemed wrong. But her mind had run marathons all night over Nichole’s disappearance. She needed an escape. Football was just the thing to do that. It required energy and focus.

  Sauda reset with the rest, ready to play. She hadn’t had time to think. But the crowd thinned. This was their last game and her reprieve would come crashing down around her.

  The ball sailed just over her head, jarring her from the seeping worry. She jumped, bumped the canvas with her forehead, and then guided it down her body. Redemption. She launched herself down the field and straight for the goal. The kid she’d plowed braced for the impact that never materialized.

  Madelyn rocketed the ball up over the goalie’s head. It bounced off the tip of his finger and fell into the goal—the goal being an imaginary line in the sand the players knew by heart. The point sent her team into revelry with cheers, sweaty hugs, and chants. In the second line of their victory song she saw a most unusual sight.

  Deacon was in his usual spot twenty yards away under the shade of a huddled group of palms, but his position was most peculiar. His feet, all four of them, jutted into the air and his head was half-buried in the sand. He emitted a laughable groan of pleasure. That noise, up until now, had belonged only to them. He made the sound on those rare occasions when he stopped moving long enough to relax and unwind with a belly rub. And now he was getting a belly rub from Mr. FBI.

  She covered her mouth to keep from trenching sand with her jaw. Deacon, while sweeter than pie, was as messed up about people as she. Leaving the cheers behind, Madelyn went to reclaim her dog. “Deacon,” she called from twelve feet out. He snapped to attention. Looking dutifully guilty, he hurried to her heel.

  Nathan Brewer stood and dusted the sand from his worn jeans and University of Mississippi T-shirt. She stopped as though she’d run into a wall. Boy had she. The abruptness of the impact stole her breath.

  The agent tilted his head. His gaze studied her for a moment before turning that scrutiny on himself. He checked his fly and then patted his big hands over a taut chest. She wished his physique were the only shocker she had to deal with at the moment. Because it was enough.

  “What?” he begged, coasting his fingers over the individual bumps of his abdomen.

  Madelyn shook herself and continued toward him. “It’s just. I haven’t seen an Ole Miss shirt in a long time. It surprised me.”

  He crossed sturdy arms over his chest and twitched a brow.

  “I went to college there, but I’m sure you’ve read that in my file.”

  “I haven’t read your file.”

  “But you have it?”

  “What happened to Deacon’s belly?” His chin jutted toward the pup in question. “Those scars are pretty…”

  “Gris
ly,” she supplied, letting him change the subject.

  “That’s the word.” Gaze zeroed in on her dog, he leaned forward. His arms unfolded and he stroked Deacon’s head as if consoling him.

  With him so close her words strained to leave her throat. But she swallowed and managed a response. “I don’t know.”

  “Adopted?” Nathan asked, straightening.

  “Rescued.”

  “How long did it take?”

  “What?”

  “For him to trust you?”

  “Thirteen tanks of gas worth.” She wrinkled her nose at Deacon.

  “Did you lock him in the car and drive until he finally broke down and gave you a chance or what?”

  “It just took a long time,” she hedged, wishing she’d gone with that answer in the first place.

  Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets. A mischievous smirk collected on his supple lips.

  “It’s a long story,” she explained.

  “I’m listening.”

  Madelyn shoved the loose strands of wet hair from her face, wiped the sweat on her damp shirt, and then realized she looked like hell. And for the first time in a long time, she actually cared. His gaze flitted about her face, but didn’t seem to notice her ratty shorts or soaked tee.

  “When I need to think, I drive. Finals were coming up at the end of my junior year. So, I hopped in my truck at the time—a gas guzzling 1980 Chevy Blazer—and started driving. I made it to the north side of Holly Springs National Forrest when I saw him hobble into the woods.”

  “That’s damn near Tennessee.”

  “I crossed the state line looking for a place to turn around.” She patted the top of her hair, realized she was primping, and then dropped her arms to her side. “I didn’t have any food to coax him with. So, I pulled over and sat at the tree line. He laid about thirty yards away and watched me for three hours. It started to get dark. I called out to him, but he turned and limped away.”

  Madelyn threaded her fingers together. “He wouldn’t come to me, but…” She watched the wind rustle the tips of the palms and considered her next words carefully.

  “You saw your pain in his eyes.”

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach. He’d read her file. How else could he know? Which also meant he’d lied. For some stupid reason she’d believed every word that had come out of his mouth. At Nichole’s house she’d experienced a bone deep draw to his no-nonsense manner.

  Her gaze flew to Nathan’s, but again he wasn’t looking at her. His haunted eyes examined Deacon. How had she missed it before? Soul deep sadness made the eyes frown even when a person smiled. She swallowed past sudden rawness.

  Special Agent Nathan Brewer stood a foot taller than her, mounds of muscles wider, and layers of hide tougher than she. But he hadn’t always been a big strapping man. Madelyn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing at the horrible images that flashed in her mind.

  “And you see yours.” she croaked.

  His gaze met hers, and for a moment on the breezy beach, while the waves roared and children whooped, their pasts walled them in a transparent rectangle and sucked out all the air. His lids closed for a beat longer than normal. When his eyes opened the past wasn’t gone, but he’d shoved it back. His lips curved and suddenly she could breathe again.

  “You drove two hours a day to stare at this guy every day for two weeks?” he jutted his chin at her dog.

  “Three weeks and two days in the middle of the summer and about two-hundred bucks worth of wet dog food, but he was worth it.”

  “He’s awesome.”

  “He has his quirks, but then we all do.” Madelyn dug her bare toes into the sand. Well, Agent Brewer, you didn’t come here for my life story…”

  “If I had, would you give it to me?”

  “Nope.”

  He grinned. “Not yet.”

  “Not ever,” she said.

  “I’m starving. Is there a quiet restaurant nearby where we can talk about the case and eat?”

  She could not believe she was about to say it, but it was the truth.

  “We can eat at my house. It’s just up the beach. In this town the quietest conversations travel the fastest. Besides, I have to talk to you too.”

  Madelyn scanned the area. “Your partner won’t be joining us, will he?”

  “He’s not my partner.”

  8

  Deacon wedged himself between him and Madelyn as they fell into step together. He got the message loud and clear. And if he didn’t get it from the dog, he’d get it from Madelyn’s constrained gate. Not much surprised him these days, but her invitation sank like a sniper’s bullet in the center of his chest. And it seemed to have shocked her as much.

  Just three football fields’ distance from the game, about two miles from the small town center, a tiny house the color of honey-baked persimmon disrupted the tan sand and green of the jungle. Despite the color contrast it fit perfectly in the quiet nook of the bay, as though the earth had carved the stop out especially for her home.

  She turned the knob, brushed her feet on a narrow rug, stepped inside and opened the door wider for him. Nathan stood, incredulous.

  “You need to keep your door locked,” he said in as even a voice as he could manage.

  “I was just up the beach.”

  “Did you watch your door the whole time?”

  She quirked her mouth.

  “Where exactly am I going to put a key?” She gestured to her body with a hint of distain.

  Given another surprise invitation, he seized it. His gaze stared at her pink toes and worked up the sculpted length of her legs. Sand clung to nearly every inch of available skin from mid-thigh down. Tattered shorts covered the junction of her thighs, but images he shouldn’t have filled in the gaps. A baggy T-shirt covered her torso, but too many times when he’d watched her sprint up and down the sand it had billowed, revealing her tight abdomen and the hint of a grey sports bra.

  He swallowed his lust and almost choked to death. Then he met her gaze. “Latch it to Deacon’s collar or around your neck,” he said with a rusty voice. “I don’t care where you put it. You’re a beautiful woman living alone.” That got her back up. “And no matter how capable you are of defending yourself, there’s no better place for someone to catch you off guard than your home.”

  “I lock it most of the time.”

  “Make it all the time.”

  “Come in before I change my mind.”

  Nathan shook out his flip-flops and stepped from the sand into the kitchen. Deacon nudged past him and sprawled in the middle of the walkway on the cool tiled floor. Nathan closed the door and twisted the deadbolt.

  “You should lock it when you’re home too.”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re bossy?”

  “Once or twice.”

  He stood at the threshold and drank in the simplicity of her home. There were no shrines dedicated to family, no girlie décor. The colors of nature filled the space. Wood ceilings ran throughout with stone tiled floors. White linen curtains at every window rustled in the sea breeze. The house was so open it felt like an extension of the outdoors. Mother Nature herself breathed life in these walls. And that was a very bad thing. With all the windows opened who cared if she locked the doors. But he reserved that lecture for now.

  Madelyn moved around the kitchen, washing this and grabbing that. Her shoulders relaxed. She poured them each a glass of water and motioned him forward.

  “I really need to go wash up before I get sand all over the house. Do you like strawberry walnut salad?”

  “Sure.”

  “Would you mind slicing these up?” She slid a cutting board with a mound of strawberries and a small knife in his direction.

  “Not at all.”

  She hesitated, turned away, and then whipped back around. “You need to wash…” A long strand of hair dropped into her face as she stared at his hands, already sudsy over the sink. “Oh, right,” she whispered before hurry
ing around the island, through a tiny living area, and past a heavy carved door.

  9

  Madelyn wanted to shower and change, but she didn’t want to seem eager or too inviting. So, she only rinsed her legs, arms, and face. She resurrected her ponytail, which had managed to come almost completely undone during the fits of triumph on the beach.

  Reentering the kitchen, she stopped. She’d expected Nathan to give up on strawberry chopping for more interesting sport like snooping about her home. Instead, he was putting the goat cheese on top of their otherwise-complete salads.

  “You can cook?”

  His eyebrow rose. “I wouldn’t call preparing a salad cooking, but yes. I can cook, clean, and do laundry. Just like you can, I suppose. Cleaning and laundry aren’t my favorites, but I’d get fired if I went to work naked.”

  She had a hard enough time concentrating around him without the mental picture he forced into her mind. With the image searing her brain, she worked overtime to keep it together.

  He placed the bread he’d finished slicing on a plate and asked, “Where do you want to eat?”

  “This way.” Madelyn grabbed their drinks, thankful for something to do, and then led the way through her bedroom, which shrank like a funhouse with Nathan inside it. She quickened her pace and pushed through the back door and out onto the back patio.

  They stopped in the shade of the house at a small bistro table. She set the glasses on the two-top and heaved a potted plant several feet, allowing her to reach the second chair.

  “Entertain often?” He started at the dark water ring staining the deck.

  “Nichole is the only person who’s ever been in my house, until today.”

  His forehead wrinkled. She expected him to say something, but he nodded and divvied out the plates of food. He passed her a napkin, placed his in his lap, waited for her to pick up her fork, and then gulped down half his salad in only a couple of bites.

  Madelyn stared at him in a fog of surreal disbelief. This big man with his rumbly voice, no-nonsense, yet soothing manner, made her home look like a doll house. He made her ordered life look like the ruse it was. She shifted in her seat.