MADIGAN'S WIFE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Ray rolled from the bed as Grace said hello and the doorbell rang again. He smiled as he left the room. Grace was trying to explain why she wasn’t at work, and would also no doubt have to explain exactly who had to put on clothes and answer the door.

  He grabbed his jeans from the hallway floor and stepped into them quickly, and snagged his pistol from the table at the end of the hall. The doorbell rang again, only this time it turned into a long, continuous, annoying peal that vibrated through the house as whoever was at the front door pressed continuously on the buzzer.

  “I’m coming,” he shouted, and the ringing came to an abrupt stop. He looked through the peephole and sighed when he saw who stood there.

  “You are in so much trouble,” Luther said before the door had opened a full foot.

  “What else is new?”

  Ray moved back as Luther stepped into Grace’s house. “You’ve been talking to people you have no business messing with, Ray.”

  “Just because you’re slow getting the job done…” Ray began.

  Luther looked around the room with narrowed eyes, taking in the undergarments and clothing and shoes scattered about the room, the very clear trail to the hallway. “For God’s sake, Ray,” he muttered. “Jesus…”

  “Let it go,” Ray said, an undisguised warning in his voice. “If you want to talk about the case, I’m all yours. Right now everything else is off-limits.”

  “Why is it that your personal life is always so much more fascinating than something so common as murder?” Luther grumbled.

  “Maybe because you don’t have a personal life of your own,” Ray said with a tight smile.

  Grace, wearing her baggy sweats, her hair hanging straight and uncombed past her shoulders as she walked into the kitchen, didn’t try to rush around and pick up the evidence of last night’s activities. She headed straight for the coffeepot

  “Morning, Luther,” she said softly.

  “Morning,” he said, a touch of resentment in his voice.

  “Detective Malone, are you armed?” Grace asked as she reached for the coffee grounds.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you shoot me, please?”

  Luther hesitated before muttering lowly, his back to Grace so she couldn’t possibly hear. “With pleasure.”

  Ray quickly gathered the scattered clothes from the furniture and the floor and offered Luther a seat. The detective sat, shaking his head in unconcealed dismay.

  *

  Amy, who worked the front desk for Dr. Dearborne, smiled widely when Grace came in several hours late. It was almost lunchtime. Grace didn’t know if she was most embarrassed because she was so late, or because Amy had heard her hiss to Ray to get dressed and answer the door. After that, making lame excuses to Amy would’ve been a waste of time.

  And to top it all off, it had been Luther at the door! Disbelieving, sour, dagger-eyed Detective Malone, who might be irresistible to some women, had really been getting on her nerves, lately. Why did she care what that malcontent thought of her, anyway?

  Because he’d been her friend, once upon a time. Because he had been with her during some of the best times, and all of the worst

  “I’ll work late,” Grace said as she passed Amy on the way to her office.

  Once she was in her office she closed the door, something she rarely did, shrugged off her navy blue jacket, and plopped into her chair.

  Ray had dropped her off and watched her walk into the building, and he’d promised to pick her up at five-thirty. He’d be here early, as usual, and she’d likely have to work after hours to make up for her late start. He wouldn’t leave her here alone, either, after the rest of the staff had gone home. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to convince him that she didn’t need him hovering over her twenty-four hours a day!

  Last night had been a mistake. She’d been so certain, when she’d given in, that Ray’s roll in the hay for old times’ sake would be awkward and less than perfect, common enough to convince her that she did not need him in her life, that her memories of him were false.

  She hadn’t expected to get so lost in physical sensation that she forgot everything else. She hadn’t expected to wake up, look into Ray’s face, and be certain, for a moment, that she still loved him and he loved her.

  He had never really loved her, she thought angrily as she pulled up the payroll files on her computer and tried to turn her mind toward the day’s work. If he had loved her at all he wouldn’t have tortured her the way he had, he would’ve chosen her over a dangerous career that threatened his life every day. When she’d asked, when she’d begged, he should’ve listened to her.

  Why had he quit? The question he’d refused to answer had plagued her since she’d heard the news. Why? He’d loved his job so much. More than that, he hadn’t been willing to quit for her, to save their marriage. So what had happened? She forgot the payroll, pulled up her Internet connection and began to do a little investigating of her own.

  *

  Luther’s warning about interfering in the investigation had been halfhearted, at best, so Ray had no qualms about pulling into the parking lot at Lanford Systems.

  Why was a homicide detective more concerned about who his ex-partner slept with than anything else? Luther had been annoyed that Ray had questioned Heather Farmer, but he’d been really ticked off to find him in bed with Grace.

  Like Ray couldn’t handle his own personal life, thank you very much. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and he wasn’t about to let a woman – any woman – throw him into a tail-spin again.

  Ray dismissed his thoughts of Grace and last night and looked at the redbrick building before him. The place smelled of money and power, it had an air of exclusivity about it. With his jeans and T-shirt and cotton button-up open down the front, he wouldn’t blend in here, that’s for sure. Ray stepped from his car with a smile on his face. He’d stir ‘em up a little, that’s all. See what floated to the surface.

  Ben McCann was first on his list of possible suspects. Not only would getting rid of Carter narrow the romantic field where Louise Lanford was concerned, his position at Lanford Systems had improved overnight. McCann was the one people were answering to, now. He was the one stepping into Carter Lanford’s shoes. The move was a temporary one, a necessity to keep the business running, but with Louise Lanford’s backing McCann was definitely first in line to take over a very successful company.

  Lanford’s shoes and his bed. Now, that was a motive.

  Lanford Systems ran like a well-oiled machine, inside and out. No slackers here, Ray imagined as he approached the main receptionist’s desk. The woman eyed him suspiciously, but after she spoke to Heather over the telephone her expression and her attitude changed. She sent him right up, with a smile.

  On the fourth floor, where the main offices were located, Heather was waiting for him when the elevator doors opened smoothly.

  “You got here just in time,” she said softly. “Ben has a very important meeting in fifteen minutes.”

  “Life goes on, I guess,” he said as she led him toward a corner office.

  She sighed tiredly, maybe agreeing with him. Maybe not.

  “So, are you working for McCann now?”

  “I’m the only one who knows how Carter had everything set up,” Heather said softly. “His files, his calendar, I took care of them all. So yes, I’m working for McCann. If he’s given this position permanently I imagine I’ll be out on the street.” She glanced over her shoulder and grimaced. “I know too much. Might get messy.”

  Ben McCann was a tall, widely built man wearing an expensive dark blue suit and a burgundy tie. He looked every bit the harried businessman.

  “Mr. McCann,” Ray said with a smile. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Carter Lanford.” Not about Louise Lanford. Not yet.

  McCann appeared to be startled that his office had been broached by a commoner. “I don’t have time…”

  “You have five minutes,” Heather said. She got a cu
tting glance for her trouble.

  “Two,” McCann grumbled. He pinned dark, suspicious eyes on Ray.

  “I understand you worked very closely with Carter Lanford,” Ray said in a nonthreatening tone.

  “For several years,” McCann said testily.

  “Did you spend time with him personally? Play golf, go out to lunch, grab a beer after work…”

  “No,” McCann snapped.

  This man was going to give away nothing. He was stonewalling already. “Who would want to kill such a swell guy?” Ray asked with a straight face.

  McCann’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re no cop.”

  “I’m private.”

  “Then I don’t have to talk to you.” McCann swiped a manila folder off his desk and headed for the door, side-stepping Ray and Heather to escape.

  “Miss Farmer, show this gentleman out.”

  Heather sighed as they watched McCann step into the elevator. “Well, that was a waste of time,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

  Ray wasn’t so sure. He needed a face-to-face feel for the players in this game, a reading on all the suspects. Was McCann capable of murder? Most likely.

  “Is everything all right, Heather?” A young man wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a gray suit came out of his own office. He was slender, pale, and his fair hair was cut short and precise. A geek.

  “Everything’s okay, Hatch,” she said in a voice that made it clear nothing was okay. “Mr. Madigan, this is Christopher Hatcher. He was Carter’s right-hand man when it came to technical matters. If you want to know about the business, talk to Hatch.” She smiled sadly. “He’s the one who keeps this place running.”

  Hatch blushed and cast a shy smile at Heather. “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

  “You two can talk while I get you those tickets for Friday night,” Heather said, turning about and heading for her desk.

  “You’re going to the Charity Ball?” Hatch asked. His eyes flicked to a retreating Heather, and his smile faded. “With Heather?” Hatch’s gaze went moony, for a second.

  “Yes and no,” Ray said casually. There was no need to share more information than was necessary. He wanted everyone to be relaxed Friday night. Heather could keep a secret, but he wasn’t sure about Hatcher. “I’m going, but not with Heather. The old lady’s been hassling me to take her somewhere nice.” Ray rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Heather was nice enough to suggest the Charity Ball.”

  Hatch’s countenance changed. “The ball is always quite grand. I’m sure your … old lady will have a wonderful time.”

  Ray nodded toward the man’s office. “I’m counting on it,” he said. “Heather said you were the man to talk to if I wanted to know how this place works. Do you have a few minutes?”

  *

  Grace waited calmly until Ray was inside and everyone else was locked out. She’d assured Dr. Dearborne and Amy that she wouldn’t stay too late, and that Ray would remain with her. They didn’t know she’d witnessed a murder, Ray had been adamant that only those who had to know be told, and still they were a little concerned about her being in the office all alone at night.

  She likely wouldn’t get much work accomplished, though, she thought as Ray followed her back to her office. Her mind was shooting off in too many different directions to concentrate on work. Besides, Ray had some serious explaining to do.

  “How was your day, wild thing?” he asked softly, his voice teasing and seductive.

  She glanced over her shoulder as she entered her office. He was right behind her, a wide grin on his face. She was too old to blush, but her cheeks flushed warm as he reminded her how she’d lost control. If she hadn’t already known that last night was a mistake…

  “My day was fine,” she said almost primly.

  Ray looked around her plain office, at the desk and the chairs and the blue carpeted floor. “We have the place to ourselves, Gracie. You don’t really have work to do, do you?” He closed in and wrapped his arms around her, laid his lips on her neck and sucked softly. “You locked me in the office to have your way with me in the dentist’s chair, didn’t you?”

  She could hear the humor in his voice, but he held on to her as if he were deadly serious.

  Grace didn’t panic and push him away. Fighting Ray never did any good anyway, unless you fought on his terms.

  “You quit your job over a hooker,” she whispered.

  Ray’s body stiffened and he stepped back, releasing her. Withdrawing from her so completely and effectively she felt a sudden chill. His face was no longer relaxed and smiling. There was no humor in his eyes.

  “I did not quit my job over a hooker,” he said tersely. “What did you do, Gracie, call your friend the part-time weather girl and ask her to poke around and see what kind of dirt she could dig up on me?”

  Grace shook her head. “No. I found most of what I needed on the Internet, in old articles from the local newspapers. The rest I just reasoned out for myself.” She cocked her head and glared at Ray, tried to read the stony expression on his face. “Did you think that just because you didn’t want to tell me what happened I couldn’t find out if I wanted to know?”

  The expression on his face didn’t change. “I really didn’t think you cared enough to go to all the trouble,” he said coolly.

  Grace tried to remain as calm as Ray was, as distant. It was so hard, when what she really wanted was to scream at him.

  “Was she a friend, this Emily Buck?” He must’ve cared about her very much to go so far, to lose control completely. It was so unlike him. Ray Madigan, who never cared enough about anyone to lose control, had thrown his career away. He must’ve cared for the woman. “What was she to you, Ray?”

  His face was rigid, his eyes like chips of ice. “Emily Buck was a nineteen-year-old mixed-up kid,” he said, his words crisp. Harsh. “You want to know what she was to me? I’ll tell you everything. I arrested her twice, and both times I tried my damnedest to get her off the drugs that had completely screwed up her life.”

  Grace looked at the floor and closed her eyes. She should’ve known.

  In an instant Ray was standing before her, his hand on her chin as he forced her to look up.

  “No,” he said lowly, a coarseness she was not accustomed to in his voice. “No more hiding. No more turning your head or closing your eyes when you don’t like what you see. You go digging around in my life, you want to know what happened, when I tell you the truth you will damn well look me in the eye and listen.”

  His eyes bored into her. “Emily Buck was a nineteen-year-old crack addict who prostituted herself to support her habit. She wasn’t a bad person,” he whispered. “Her family loved her, and cared for her, and tried to help. They were good people who never understood what had happened to their only daughter. One night her boyfriend – her pimp – killed her. The people in the apartment next door found her body, obviously dead, on the concrete steps outside their door.” He took a deep breath but did not release her. “They called the police, but first they called investigative reporter Sam Morgan’s hotline, so they’d get the fifty bucks he pays for juicy, exclusive information.”

  He leaned in close, and for the first time since she’d met Ray she felt threatened by him. He was so much bigger than she was, so much stronger. His strength had never frightened her before, but right now he was furious, dancing on a dangerous edge. His cruel mouth looked as if it never smiled.

  “Emily’s mother heard about her daughter’s death on the ten o’clock news. Known prostitute Emily Buck, Morgan called her, while he showed a tasteful shot. All Emily’s mother saw was a bloody bare foot in the background.”

  Grace swallowed hard. “That’s why you…”

  “That’s why I broke Morgan’s nose. Smug S.O.B. deserved that and worse.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Everybody’s sorry. Emily’s pimp was sorry he left his fingerprints on the knife. The neighbors were sorry they hadn’t called the polic
e first, once the money Morgan had paid them was gone.”

  She had never seen Ray so tense. The muscles in his face and neck were tight, his eyes flashed, hard and bright.

  “Luther was sorry he didn’t get there faster, to stop Morgan before it was too late. The Captain was sorry when he told me I could resign or be fired because the station owner was going to sue the city if I remained on the job. Morgan’s still sorry his face isn’t quite as pretty as it used to be.”

  The fingers holding her chin tightened, just a little, and he stared into her eyes. “What are you sorry about, Gracie?”

  Her heart caught in her throat and she couldn’t answer. “Sorry you left Huntsville? Sorry you came back?” He bit out the harsh words. He moved forward, slanted his head and kissed her, but there was no passion in the kiss. No love. “Sorry about last night?” he added, his voice a whisper.

  She wanted to say yes. Yes to all three. But instead she laid her hand on Ray’s cheek and kissed him. A real, tender kiss this time. Something to say I’m sorry without words, without awkward explanations.

  Ray relaxed as he took his lips from hers, laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “As for me? I’m not sorry for what I did. I’m just sorry I couldn’t save Emily. She was a kid, Gracie. Just a kid.”

  She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I know you tried. It’s not your fault, Ray. You can’t save the whole world.” It was what he tried to do, wasn’t it? The reason he’d always been the one at the front of the action, the reason he’d taken risks with his life. Risks he could live with and she could not.

  “I wasn’t trying to save the whole world,” he whispered. “Just one kid.”

  Somehow she doubted that. “There have been others, haven’t there? Other kids.”

  “Sure.”

  “And you were able to help some of them, I know it.”

  “Maybe…”

  “No maybes, Ray.”

  He looked her in the eye, and she could see the pain there, a pain she’d never seen before. A barrier between them had crumbled, leaving them both raw. Exposed. She’d never seen Ray like this before.

  “You tried to help her, you did your best. That’s all you could do.” Tentatively, wondering if he would push her away, she laid her hand on his cheek, stroked him there before lowering her hand to touch her palm to his chest.