MADIGAN'S WIFE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  It was a pretty cold and emotionless statement.

  Grace quit pretending to preen and turned to face Louise Lanford. “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to sound sincere. “How awful for you.”

  Louise finished with her own repairs and straightened to look at Grace. “Thanks, but to be honest it wasn’t so awful. My husband and I hadn’t had much of a marriage for a long time.” She looked, for an instant, almost sad. “I lost the man I married years ago, first to his business and then to his young and disgustingly bubbly secretary.” Her eyes went hard; the smile she flashed was obviously false. “I’m not going to pretend to mourn a man I quit loving years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said again, meaning it this time.

  “Don’t be,” Louise said sharply. “You know what the worst part of it is? The bubbly secretary is actually here tonight. We’ve been very careful to be on opposite sides of the ballroom at all times.” She flashed a false smile. “It’s all very civilized, the way Carter liked things to be when he was with us.”

  “Sounds uncomfortable,” Grace said, realizing the truth in Louise’s statement. She hadn’t seen Heather and Louise stand close to one another tonight, they had never acknowledged the other’s presence in even the smallest way. She wondered if it had been the same before Lanford’s death.

  “So,” Louise said brightly, dismissing her problems. “What about you? Why did you only make it to class once this week? You’re there almost as much as I am.”

  “Husband problems of my own,” Grace said in a soft voice. “Well, ex-husband problems. He’s been … hanging around a lot lately.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Louise said as she snapped her purse shut and checked her reflection one more time, pulling in her stomach, thrusting out her breasts. “Do you like him hanging around? It’s hard to tell by the tone of your voice.”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Grace muttered as she followed Louise to the exit.

  Louise laughed lightly. “I know the feeling.” Before they joined the crowd, she turned to Grace again. “Men. I swear, sometimes I think we’d be much better off without the opposite sex. Other times I’m sure I can’t live without them.”

  “Or a particular one,” Grace said softly, thinking of Ray.

  Louise gave Grace a sympathetic nod of her well-coifed head. “Oh, you look like you’ve got it bad.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” She didn’t have to pretend to be distressed. All she had to do was call on her deepest feelings.

  Laying a comforting hand on her arm, Louise leaned in and said softly. “If you’re really having a problem with the ex, I can give you the name of a wonderful man to help you out. He was a lifesaver for me.”

  Grace’s heart almost stopped. It couldn’t be this easy. Was Louise Lanford about to recommend her own personal hit man? “Really? I’d appreciate it.”

  “Dr. Wendell Wells is a great couples therapist. He tried to help us, when things first went wrong, and he did help me.” For a second Louise looked like she was no older than Heather. Sad and a little lost. “When I was confused he tried to help me see where I was going and why … and why I couldn’t make things work no matter how hard I tried. I haven’t seen him for years,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe I should give him a call.”

  “Thank you,” Grace said.

  “Good luck,” Louise said before putting back on her false face to join the crowd.

  *

  “They’re playing our song,” Ray said as he swooped in and saved Grace from yet another aging Romeo. He gently dragged her onto the dance floor and into his arms, swinging her around in time to the slow, jazzy tune.

  “‘Makin’ Whoopee’?” she said with a smile. “Our song is ‘Makin’ Whoopee’?”

  “Why not?”

  The crowd had begun to thin, as the evening headed for a close, so they had a large portion of the dance floor to themselves. It gave him room to swing Grace around, to dance with her unrestrained, without worrying about running into another couple. He twirled her across the dance floor, wanting to make her head whirl the way his did.

  “What did you find out?” he whispered in her ear as he stopped spinning and pulled her close.

  “I don’t think Louise had anything to do with it,” Grace said softly.

  “What, she didn’t grab your ass?”

  Grace pulled back and glared up at him. “Be serious,” she admonished. “You asked me what I thought and I told you. I don’t think she needed to kill him. They’d been married a long time, so if there was a divorce she wouldn’t have exactly been left penniless. She said they fell out of love a long time ago. I’d be more likely to think her guilty if she was putting on a show of mourning when she so obviously didn’t love him anymore.”

  “So, what is the trick to getting past the Grace Madigan test? Is our bad guy someone who’s putting on a show of mourning the dearly departed Lanford, or the most innocent-looking man in the room?” He lowered his voice. “I know who we should check out next. The little old man who kept stepping on your toes,” he teased.

  “I’m serious,” she admonished. “I told Louise you were driving me crazy, and she tried to send us to counseling. The tough gal is an act, I think, no more substantial than the gown she’s wearing.”

  Ray ignored the bit about driving her crazy. After all, turnabout was fair play. Right? “So, we’re back to Reed.”

  Grace sighed and laid her head against his shoulder, easily, comfortably. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong direction. I just can’t see any one of them having Lanford killed.”

  “You’re too tenderhearted,” Ray said, trying to ignore the way she felt against him. Yielding and seductive. “Too gullible. You’d make a lousy detective.”

  She didn’t argue with him, just rested her body against his and relaxed. He closed his eyes and spun her around, easy this time. Wherever he led she followed, smoothly and without an ounce of resistance.

  “I’m tired,” she whispered, her breath warm against his shoulder. Her body lay soft and smooth against his, flesh and red silk and nothing else. “Maybe in the morning some of this will make sense.”

  “Maybe,” he said, not yet ready to lead her from the dance floor.

  Holding Grace this way led to those impossible thoughts. He knew when they got back to the hotel tonight he’d have to smile and tell her good-night and head for his own room as if letting her go wasn’t killing him. He didn’t want to, though. He wanted to hold her all night. And tonight, tonight she wouldn’t resist him any more than she resisted the way he led her around the dance floor. But what about tomorrow?

  Whenever he felt like he was on the verge of falling in love with her all over again, he reminded himself that when the going got tough, Grace got going. She’d said it herself. She couldn’t take who and what he was. It was too hard to work through the bad times for the sake of being there when the good times rolled around.

  That didn’t make her any less his. It just … hurt a little. He couldn’t be her damned friend any more than he could maintain the skin-deep relationship he craved and needed. Having a purely sexual encounter with Grace sounded like a good idea, it made perfect sense. He just didn’t think he could pull it off anymore.

  When the song ended he stepped back and gave her a small smile that would tell her nothing of what was in his mind. “I think we’ve done all we can tonight. Reed and McCann are both gone, the widow Lanford is gathering her bag and saying good-night to a few friends as we speak, and Heather is walking out the door. Looks like Hatch is driving her home.”

  “Good. She’s still too shook up to drive, if you ask me,” Grace said. “And she’s been drinking.”

  “So have you.”

  She grinned. “A little champagne, that’s all. For social purposes only, I assure you.”

  He wanted to kiss her here and now, in the middle of the room, in front of all these people. Instead he brushed back a silky strand of dark hair that brushed he
r cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He took her arm and led her toward the door. Once they were outside, where the night was cool and pleasant, he spotted Luther standing across the street, in front of the parking garage. Waiting. As they crossed the street Luther straightened, scowled and crooked a finger at Ray.

  “I’d like a word with you,” Luther snapped.

  “Fire away.”

  “Alone.” Luther turned his back and started walking toward the park.

  “I’ll wait here,” Grace said, leaning against a lightpost.

  “I won’t go far,” Ray promised.

  She smiled, tired and trusting, and he walked to where Luther waited impatiently. Ray circled around so he could see Grace over Luther’s shoulder. He watched, fascinated, as she leaned against the lamppost and closed her eyes.

  “What?” Ray snapped, his eyes remaining on Grace.

  “Don’t make me arrest you,” Luther snapped. “I want you, no, I’m ordering you to step back and stay out of this case. No more talking to my suspects, no more talking to anyone who knew Carter Lanford. If I so much as catch you looking at his first-grade teacher I’ll haul you in and lock you up.”

  Ray grinned. “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes, I will,” Luther promised darkly. “Jesus, you and Grace deserve each other, you know that? She said the exact same thing when I told her to back off. This is a murder investigation, Ray, not a game of Clue.”

  “You told Grace to back off?” He’d seen them dancing, briefly, and neither of them had looked too happy. Right after that, Beatrice Reed had started introducing him to all her friends and he’d lost sight of his friend and his wife. Ex-wife, he reminded himself.

  “For all the good it did me,” Luther snapped. “Keep her out of it, too, for God’s sake. She has less business than you do nosing around this case.”

  “She’s your only witness. I’d say she has every right.”

  “Witnesses do not investigate the crime, Madigan.”

  Luther only called him Madigan when he was really pissed, so Ray backed off. A little. “Okay, Malone. I’ll take it easy for a while.” He wasn’t having much luck, anyway. “But if you don’t find something soon…”

  “I will,” Luther interrupted. His face changed, softened a little. “You know, with all that’s happened I can get the okay to post security on Grace. There’s no reason for you to put everything aside to be her bodyguard until this thing is finished.”

  “That’s okay.” Ray planted his eyes on Grace again. She looked like she was about to fall asleep, there against the lightpost. She was completely relaxed, soft and sexy in her red dress in the circle of light. Lean and delicate, strong and smart, she was everything a man could want in a woman. After all they’d been through, how could she still be so tempting?

  If he was smart he’d take Luther up on his offer and hand Grace over. No more wanting her and knowing he couldn’t have her, no more moments of weakness when he knew without a doubt that she was his woman and always would be. No more painful nights tossing and turning because he knew, deep in his gut and in the portion of his brain that continued to work properly, that Grace wasn’t his anymore.

  No, he wasn’t that smart. “I farmed out a couple of cases that couldn’t wait, and put the rest on hold. I can’t walk away from Grace now.”

  “She’s not your wife or your responsibility anymore,” Luther said sensibly. “This is going to lead to trouble, I know it. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “You and your bones,” Ray said with a smile. Unfortunately Luther’s bone-deep feelings were usually right. Grace was trouble, but he still couldn’t walk away from her when she needed him. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Luther grumbled.

  The car turned slowly from Clinton onto Monroe. What caught Ray’s attention was that the headlights were off. Some drunk trying to find his way home on a Friday night, probably. Too many beers or too much champagne had dulled the driver’s senses. That was all it was, right?

  His heart did a funny flip in his chest. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the dark car stopped in the middle of the road. The engine revved once, and then it began to roll forward. Slowly, at first, then a little bit faster. The direction of the rolling car changed subtly, the nose pointing not straight down the street, but turning toward the lamppost.

  Ray took off running at full speed; the driver of the car floored it.

  “Grace!”

  At the sound of his voice she opened her eyes and smiled at him sleepily as he continued to race toward her. Her smile faded as he reached into his shoulder holster and withdrew his gun.

  Grace heard the roar of the gunned engine and spun to face the approaching vehicle. The car was headed straight for her, gaining speed, hugging the curb. Flying toward her faster than was possible. She jumped out of the way just as the bumper of the speeding car scraped against the lamppost with the screech and howl of a metal bumper on a concrete column. Mere inches away from being run over, Grace hit the sidewalk and rolled away. The car swerved and the back fender glanced off the lightpost with a grinding crunch and kept going, picking up speed.

  Ray took a shot at a back tire and missed. Luther did the same. As people came running from the Civic Center to see what the noise was about, some of them placing themselves in the line of fire, Luther and Ray both lowered their weapons. Seconds later the car that had tried to run Grace over was gone.

  And Ray shook all over.

  He holstered his weapon and knelt down beside Grace. Her arm was scraped, seeping blood; tendrils of dark hair fell around her face. Her gown had ripped a little, there at the slit up the side. And she trembled as thoroughly as he did. More.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, brushing the hair away from her face.

  She nodded her head slowly. “I think so.”

  Luther joined them, finishing up a cell phone discussion with dispatch, as he described the car. He broke off the connection with a flick of his thumb, and dropped to his haunches beside Grace. “That was a close call.”

  “A close call,” Ray snapped angrily. “He aimed his car at her and damn near ran her over. The S.O.B. was waiting for us.”

  “It could’ve been a drunk,” Luther said sensibly, “or some kids on a joyride who lost control, or…”

  “It was him,” Grace said, looking not at Luther, but directly at Ray. “I saw his face. Just for a second, and he looked a little different, but it was him. He was staring right at me when he tried to run me down. If the lightpost hadn’t been in his way he would’ve followed me onto the sidewalk, I know it.”

  “We’re already looking for the car,” Luther said, not bothering to argue with her. “We’ll find it.”

  “In the morning,” Ray said as he helped Grace to her feet and placed his arm around her. She needed the support, and so did he. “You’ll find it in the morning. It’s a stolen car, and there won’t be any prints.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  Dammit, he didn’t want to hear another word of Luther’s nonsense. His blood boiled, his heart pounded so fast he could feel it. He couldn’t hold on to Grace tight enough. “Because this guy is a pro,” he snapped. “He’s probably already ditched the car.”

  “But…”

  “Not tonight, Malone,” Ray said as he led Grace down the steps into the parking garage. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m getting Grace out of here.”

  *

  Freddie pulled into the bar and took a deep breath as he leaned back in the driver’s seat, trying to calm himself. Again he’d failed to kill the witness. A hit and run might’ve looked enough like an accident to suit him, but he’d missed and the woman had seen him. Their eyes had locked for a split second, and he’d seen the spark of recognition.

  She wasn’t staying at her place, or at her ex-husband’s apartment. Freddie cursed himself. He should’ve been patient tonight and followed them back to where they were staying and done the deed there.
He could have taken his time and made sure there were no more mistakes.

  But seeing her stand there, alone and unprotected, had been too much of a temptation.

  Oh well, he’d pick them up in a day or two.

  This job had been nothing but wrong. The woman had seen his face and she’d been able, somehow, to ID him. The body had been found too soon. His picture was all over the news. Bad luck, all bad luck.

  There was another problem. The client was not stalwart enough to suit Freddie. If the man who had hired him was interrogated he would crack, no doubt. And he knew too much, way too much. More bad luck.

  He’d kill them both and get out of town. The witness and the client. He could do nothing else.

  Freddie stepped out of the car and straightened his jacket. He’d changed his look again. His hair was black now, his eyes dark blue. The inserts between his lower back teeth and cheeks changed the shape of his face, just enough. The suit he wore was expensive – no more bicycle shorts and tank tops for him – and the diamond stud in his left ear gave him a roguish look.

  He hated that everything on this job had gone so wrong. Most of all he regretted being forced to kill Gillian. She’d been fun. He’d really liked her.

  The bar was dark enough to suit him, and the music was too loud. Rock and roll. His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on the woman at the bar. She was cute, but not actually pretty. Short and shapely, maybe a little heavier than was fashionable, but pleasant, nonetheless. Her brown hair was inexpertly styled, her clothes were too dark and plain for this meat market.

  From a shadowed corner he watched her for a few minutes. She fidgeted, she glanced nervously around like a lost puppy. No one joined her, no one so much as waved at her. Yes, she was alone. She was grabbing her purse from the bar as he joined her.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” she said softly.

  Freddie gave her his most charming smile. “But I just got here.”

  She reclaimed her seat and placed her purse back on the bar. “Do you come here often?” The question was followed by a blush. “Oh, that sounds awful, like some kind of pick-up line.” She blushed again.