Just Cause

by Carolyn Arnold

  “You’re…you are?”

  “Yes. I’m getting married!” Cynthia threw her arms around Madison. “I’m so happy. I don’t get it, but he makes me happy. Life’s too short.”

  Madison was smiling, but inside her heart was fracturing. Life’s too short. Wasn’t that a statement and a half? If anything, recent events had taught her that truth.

  Cynthia pulled back from the embrace. “Oh, and here he comes.”

  Lou kissed Cynthia and then turned to Madison. “I take it you heard? I mean, I could hear the squealing from across the room.”

  “Squealing? Like I’m a pig or something?” Cynthia played cross.

  Lou laughed. “Screaming. My apologies.”

  “Yes, he’s terrific.” Cynthia laced her arm through Lou’s.

  Madison was truly happy for Cynthia. She remembered what it was like to live in that bubble of happiness and romance, but, sadly, she also remembered when that bubble popped. She surveyed the room, but instead of seeing Sovereign, she spotted Matthews and he was headed straight for her.

  Cynthia and Lou said their good-byes and left.

  She squealed in her head for them to come back before turning around to find herself facing Matthews.

  “Hello there.”

  “Hello.” She laughed. Why did she laugh? Again, there was something about him that had this…effect…on her. And now she knew for certain he wasn’t married. She swallowed hard and wished she had taken them up on the champagne. The last time this man had seen her, she had been half-naked. She had to divert to small talk. “Quite the shift.”

  “Yes.”

  He kept his eyes on her. They were impossible to read. What was he thinking? Did she even want to know?

  “I never thanked you properly,” she said.

  “This sounds like it could be fun.”

  She batted his arm and then lowered hers as soon as she realized what she had done. This man would be her undoing…if she allowed it.

  “You saved me from the Russians, then you saved me—”

  “From another one.”

  “Yes. Although, technically, I had shot him before you guys busted in.”

  “Speaking of busts…”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even go there.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Something in his eyes told her that he did, but it didn’t bother her like she thought it would. She thought back to the bar and how nice it had been to talk to him in a non-work environment. She felt bad for having asked about his wife. He must still be hurting over the divorce, but there was something else that was left unfinished. “I never did hear the rest of your story, Hotshot, about how you were able to fire under pressure.”

  “Hotshot, eh?”

  “Hey, you call me Bulldog.”

  “I think out of the two nicknames mine is better.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “In defense of bulldogs, they are rather adorable.”

  His flattery had her heart tapping. She allowed her mind to wander back to the warehouse, but instead of reliving the nightmare this time, she recounted the many promises she had made to herself. One was that she’d open up and love with all her heart.

  She took a deep breath, riding both excitement and nerves. If she couldn’t keep a promise to herself…

  “Bulldogs have all sorts of wrinkles. You’re not saying I have those?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  She smirked. He was smart and cute—and interested in her. Her mother would be thrilled. She shook her head.

  “So, you were saying that you hadn’t thanked me properly?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Is that you asking me out on a date?”

  “Me asking you? No.” Maybe it wasn’t too late to run away, tail tucked between legs.

  “I’m surprised.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For an independent woman, such as yourself, I’d think you’d know exactly what you want.”

  If any other man had spoken to her that way, she’d likely have gone into a tirade about how he could possibly claim to know her that well.

  “All right.” She cleared her throat and sucked in her gut. She slowly let out the breath she was holding. Was she really going to do this? “Would you join me for dinner tonight?”

  “Dinner.” He winced. “I don’t know. That might be moving things along too fast.”

  She jabbed his shoulder. “It’s just dinner I’m proposing, not marriage, it’s a meal, not forever—oh crap, I’m an idiot.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I heard about your divorce.”

  It was his turn to paw the air in indifference. “Someday I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  “I assume you’re paying since you asked me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Is that a yes?” His eyes took on further intensity.

  “Sure, why not? Yes, I will pay for your meal.” The man was smooth—in more ways than one—and she loved it. They agreed on a restaurant and time. “Now I’ll be at your place to pick you up at eight. Be ready on time and do get yourself gussied up.”

  “Gussied up?”

  She laughed. She would actually take the time to put on cosmetics tonight. “I’m just playing up the role reversal here.”

  “I’ll be ready. Will you?” He smiled as he caressed her shoulder.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. His touch sent shivers up her spine and she wished he had lingered longer. She watched him as he walked away, her heart racing, her mouth suddenly dry. She was actually looking forward to this, but first she had to keep another promise to herself.

  She retreated to the streets and took out her cell phone. The call was answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, Mom. It’s me…Madison…”

  -

  Chapter 61

  UNKNOWN LOCATION, RUSSIA

  THE HUMMER PULLED UP TO the compound, and the guards, armed with AK47s, barely passed them a glance as they went through the towering gates.

  Constantine was in the backseat and happy to be home, where he belonged, where the people were not smiley-faced Americans, yet they were equally, if not more, ambitious.

  The driveway wound through the front acreage, where it met with the main estate, a house of easily twenty thousand square feet. Its design was that of a famous architect, whose remains would have long decomposed back to dust.

  The house was palatial in scale, everything ornate and inlaid with gold. The marble flooring, imported many years ago simply because it cost a fortune and it was to impress, after all—although, the man who lived here had no need for that. His power preceded him by reputation.

  Inside, french doors were open wide, revealing a great room the size of a modest American house.

  The older man stood to meet him, but instead of fear, which he garnered from so many, Constantine’s spirit lifted.

  “You have made me proud,” the older man said in Russian.

  Constantine bowed his head. He knew he had proven himself. He did what was asked of him and that would be rewarded. He had envisioned this promotion for years, and he believed it was finally about to happen.

  “This detective lady,” the man began.

  “She still lives.”

  He hurled a wad of saliva to the floor. His men rushed to clean it. He paid them no attention. “You will go back to States. We will get you in, as the Americans say, under the radar.” The man placed his hand on Constantine’s shoulder. “You are in charge on the outside, while my son remains behind bars. You still answer to him but are second in command.”

  “I thank you.”

  “Yes, well, you will take down this woman, Knight, and
make her pay for the upset she has inflicted upon my house.” Roman Petrov thrust his pointed finger toward the floor. “Do you understand?”

  “Consider it done.”

  “All right.” Petrov put his arm around Constantine’s shoulders. “Now, we celebrate.”

  -

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  -

  Preview of Deadly Impulse

  Looks aren’t the only things that can be deceiving…

  When a sixty-eight-year-old woman is found dead outside the hospital in a wheelchair with an anti-abortion sign strapped to its back, Detective Madison Knight expects it to be an open-and-shut case. On the surface, there are no signs of foul play, but the deeper she digs, the more convoluted the homicide becomes. And when two more bodies appear, including those of a girl just barely old enough to drink and a homeless man, the direct links between the three murders are anything but simple.

  Without a consistent MO, Madison doesn’t buy that a serial killer is on the loose, despite the conviction with which her ex-fiancé and fellow detective try to convince their superior. But Madison already has enough to juggle without having to defend her reputation. Debilitating flashbacks of being held hostage by the Russian Mafia mere months before haunt her on an almost daily basis, and the promises she made to herself while in captivity are becoming more and more difficult to keep. Learning to trust is hard enough without constant reminders of what destruction—fatal or otherwise—trusting the wrong person can cause.

  Now, as both personal and professional friction within the department mounts, she and her partner, Terry, must figure out what motivation could span generations to cause someone to murder these people. But catching this killer is like grasping at straws, and grabbing the wrong one could mean losing not only her pride but also her boyfriend, her credibility, and her faith in humanity…

  -

  Chapter 1

  APPARENTLY NOT EVEN A DEAD body could stop traffic.

  Madison scanned the three-lane, westbound stream of cars. All of the drivers had somewhere to be. Even now, only a few braked to gawk at the investigation on the side of the road.

  Squad cars with flashing lights cordoned off the right lane, and the officers were diverting traffic over. This was the busiest intersection in Stiles. With a population of about half a million, seventy-five thousand people passed through this section every hour. Shopping plazas with franchise restaurants and grocery stores occupied two of the four corners; the other two had health care buildings, including one of the city’s three hospitals, the largest of which was on the northeast side of the intersection.

  Peace Liberty Hospital sat on acres of land with chain-link fencing running its perimeter. It was outside that fence that the deceased had been found.

  Cole Richards, the medical examiner, was working over the body as Crime Scene Unit investigators Cynthia Baxter and Mark Andrews were busy taking pictures and collecting anything that might be evidence.

  Cynthia headed up the crime lab. She was also Madison’s closest friend. Her strong genetics gave her the sexy librarian look, and she had wielded that power expertly over men until she got involved with Detective Lou Stanford of the Stiles PD. Now she was engaged. Three months had passed since the announcement, and Madison still hardly believed it some days.

  Mark was the only man on the forensics team and the youngest of its four members. Both elements served to make him the target of blame and teasing. All in good fun, of course, even if he might not think so at times. He had long, dark hair that he tied back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His hairstyle and other mannerisms had most of his colleagues curious about his sexual preference. To date, it remained an enigma.

  Madison lowered her sunglasses and took in the scene. It was midday and mid-July, and the sun was beating down with nondiscriminatory heat.

  The deceased was an elderly woman, her identity unknown and age estimated to be in her late sixties or early seventies. She had a short cut of gray hair and wore a T-shirt and a skirt. She sat in a wheelchair on the side of the road, her head dipped to her chest at an unnatural angle. That position alone would disclose to anyone paying enough attention that she was dead.

  It was a sad state when people were too preoccupied with their busy lives to notice an elderly woman on the side of the road like that. As it was, people would have passed in good quantity before the jogger who had found her had come along.

  His name was Erik Marsh, and he was sitting in the back of a squad car providing his statement to the officers who had arrived first on scene. She and Terry would talk to him shortly. The people who found a body were always the first suspects.

  The woman’s chair was on the grass beside the sidewalk, placing her closer to the fence than the road. Based on her thin arms and frail frame, she would have needed help to get there. A wooden board strapped to the back of the chair read, PUT AN END TO ABORTION.

  “Protesters in this area are not uncommon, but what makes an older lady come out and sit in the hot sun with a sign strapped to her?” She asked the rhetorical question of her partner, ruminating on what brought the woman to this point.

  Her partner, Terry Grant, was three years younger than she was and her total opposite. He loved running, and his hair was always perfect—rarely were one of his blond hairs out of place. Madison, on the other hand, hated mornings, so she stuck with a wake-up-and-wear-it cut. While she had a hard time making commitments, Terry was married to his sweetheart of just over five years. Annabelle was pregnant with their first child and due any day.

  Madison continued. “Not to mention, why would she get involved in such an issue? Her child-birthing days are behind her.”

  “She could have faced this issue earlier in life, or maybe a family member had? She could have been trying to keep things the way they used to be.”

  “When was abortion legalized?”

  “In most states, 1973. That would make her somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties, if she faced the issue herself.” Terry pulled his phone out and poised a finger over the screen. Despite Madison’s desire that he take notes on a lined pad, like other cops, he was adamant about embracing technology. His hardheaded determination was paying off, though, as his texting speed was improving.

  “There’s no way she came alone. Someone must’ve brought her here. But was she dead when they dropped her
off, or did she die sitting in this heat? My grandmother always wore a hat on a hot day.” She paced a few steps and brainstormed aloud. “I don’t think this woman chose to come here.”

  “Good deduction,” Cole Richards stated matter-of-factly.

  It was the only way Richards talked to her these days. Madison’s friendship with him used to be one based upon mutual respect, but things had changed when she questioned his ruling on a prior case. From there, she had dug into his personal past. If she could go back and change things she would.

  Richards continued. “Her forearms show bruising to indicate she was in a struggle, but the cause of death still needs to be determined.”

  Madison’s gaze fell to the woman’s wrists, marred in hues of purple. Heat surged through her, the fire of adrenaline blending with rage.

  Richards’s dark skin pinched around his eyes as he squinted in the bright sun. “Based on the coloring of the contusions, they happened around the time of death.”

  “And when was that?”

  “I estimate time of death between twelve and eighteen hours ago. Her body is in full rigor.”

  “You can’t narrow it down any more than that?” Madison asked.

  Richards shook his head. “Liver temp will be off given the heat. I’ll know more once I get her back to the morgue and conduct a full autopsy.”

  “When will that be?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll let you know.”

  Madison nodded. “So you don’t think she died here?” She hoped his answer would instill some faith in humanity. Surely if she’d been here for that length of time, someone would have seen her before Marsh.

  “Again, I’ll let you know.”

  “What about lividity? Doesn’t it tell you anything?” Terry asked.

  Lividity was the settlement, or pooling, of blood in the body after death. If it showed in the woman’s buttocks and the backs of her thighs, she would have died in a sitting position. But that would’ve only told them she’d died in her chair, not her actual location.