Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “Maddie,” he said, his heart wrenched to see the hurt and fear in her eyes. He fought back the catch in his throat and eased down beside her. When she didn’t recoil, he slipped his arm around her and held her close, rocking her as sobs broke through her protective barrier. He stroked her hair and kissed the side of her head and tried to say comforting things, but they seemed so shallow compared to what she was up against.

  “I need to take a shower,” she said, pulling away. Mike tried to grab her hand, but anger made her pry it loose. She knew Mike was frightened for her and for some reason this grated on her nerves.

  “Don’t be doing that,” she snapped. She rummaged through her handbag for a brush and ran it furiously through her hair.

  “I’m just worried for you.”

  “I know. I know. But acting like I’m going to self-destruct any second isn’t going to do any good,” she said, her voice hard and cold. Mike stiffened; he’d witnessed enough tirades in his life to know the warning signs. And he’d been on the other side of those angry features more often than he cared to remember. Any word he uttered at this point was guaranteed to set her off.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You don’t have to—I can read your thoughts.”

  “I can’t stop thinking,” Mike said. Madeline fumed; she was itching for a fight and Mike wouldn’t give her a reason to throw a proper fit.

  “Goddammit!” she swore, hurling her brush across the room. Mike cringed as it narrowly missed the mirror. “This isn’t fair! This is…so insane. I mean, the FBI knows Usherwood’s stalking me and is just trying to scare me senseless before he kills me…”

  “Don’t say that!” Mike said, jumping to his feet.

  “It’s the truth! You don’t know what a psycho that man is. God knows what hell he put Rick Yeoman through before putting him out of his misery.”

  “According to the coroner’s report, there weren’t any other injuries except for the single gunshot to the head—”

  “I’m talking about psychological torture, the kind I went through three years ago.” Mike made the mistake of trying to reach for her. This only fueled her harangue.

  “I had finally gotten to the point where I didn’t tense up any time I heard footsteps behind me. As soon as I got comfortable in my skin again, Usherwood resurfaces—or his hired gun. The truth is no one knows for sure where he is. And even after they rip my house apart, they still won’t know because they’re not going to find a single speck of evidence that he or anyone with a rap sheet has been there. It was a carefully planned and executed act of terror.”

  Mike didn’t know what to say. He knew she was right and his instincts told him the Feds didn’t seem to take the threat to Madeline’s safety very seriously. They went through the pantomime of a thorough investigation, but he picked up a peculiar vibe from Agent Caulfield. He didn’t dare say it to Madeline, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they thought Madeline had rearranged her own furniture and put the cleaver through the apple just to garner some protection.

  “And that stupid Caulfield acted like I’d created that scene just for attention. It really pisses me off,” Madeline fumed. She stopped her rant long enough to zero in on Mike’s thoughts. After knowing him off and on for over twenty years, she could pick up on the slightest shift in his expression.

  “You felt that too, didn’t you?” she said, pouncing on his silence.

  “Yeah…I did. But you have to remember they’ve seen it all…”

  Madeline didn’t hide her irritation. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? If they’re so hip to human idiosyncrasies, why haven’t they been able to anticipate Usherwood’s next move? Or even figure out his last?” Madeline let out a vexed sigh and picked up her hair brush.

  “I think Slovitch gets it. I’m not saying he has a portal into Usherwood’s brain, but at least he knows what he did to you, and Burt.”

  At the mention of her dead P.I., Madeline’s features seemed to sag. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, turning her back on Mike as she slipped out of her karate gear and kicked it into a pile.

  Mike sat and listened to the water beat against the shower door. If Madeline was venting her pent-up rage and frustration, he couldn’t hear it.

  After a few minutes, he got up and went to the drawer he had designated as hers for those spontaneous occasions when they both put aside the past and the present and took care of their basic human needs. He took out a T-shirt, undies and the pair of socks she liked to sleep in and laid them out on the bed where she could find them. He passed a hand through his hair as he fought down the urge for alcohol. He could use a meeting right about then, but there was no way he was going to let Madeline out of his sight.

  TEN

  Mike stood in the doorway of Madeline’s private office, leaning against the doorjamb while he watched her make notes to herself. Neither of them had gotten much sleep; they both were up before five, though no one would know it by looking at Madeline. She was as pulled together and efficient as usual. She insisted on being in the office before Lauren arrived so she could get some work done without being distracted. And Mike insisted on accompanying her. Thankfully, their office had not been molested—at least not that they could tell.

  “Something on your mind?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her task. She didn’t need to look at Mike to know what he was thinking about. His protective hovering said it all. It took her a few beats to realize he hadn’t answered her. She put down her pen and met his brooding stare with strained patience.

  “I do hope you’re not planning on being my shadow until Usherwood’s captured or killed,” she said. Mike was unperturbed by her sarcastic tone. “Mike, seriously…this is the last day of relative freedom before I more or less move in with Cherie. I can’t have you lurking over my shoulder all day.”

  Mike gave her one of his inscrutable looks and took a seat across from her.

  “All right, spit it out,” Madeline said as she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.

  “You need to accept that I’m not going to let you out of my sight for the next several days.”

  “And you need to accept that I’m going to be a virtual prisoner at the Alexander estate until Sunday night.”

  “Accepted. But here’s the plan—you’re going to get me in so I can cover your back while the Hollywood swells kick up their heels and exalt one another.”

  Madeline smiled humorously. “Sorry, partner—that’s not possible. The security at this event is going to be political-grade. No one who isn’t on the guest list or part of the crew will get a toe past the gates. The sheriff’s department will be staked out to ward off the paparazzi, which is another good reason for you not to worry.” Madeline gave Mike a triumphant smirk and went back to her notes.

  “I hate to break it to you, but the sheriff’s department security detail will not be focused on keeping you out of Usherwood’s crosshairs.”

  “But Usherwood’s not going to be able to get in,” Madeline countered.

  “Right.” It appeared Usherwood possessed the ability to walk through walls. Last night proved that. Madeline reached for a fresh pad of paper and began an outline. By the change in her demeanor, Mike figured she wasn’t just trying to ignore him.

  “What are you doing?” he finally asked.

  “Mapping out a timeline.”

  “Of…?”

  “Usherwood’s probable actions.” Mike considered this for a moment. “I’m not completely without defenses this time,” she hinted.

  “Good thinking. We treat Usherwood as if we’ve been hired to track him down,” Mike correctly surmised. “So, what have you got?”

  “Conrad Adams knew of Yeoman’s deal a week prior to his release. That means others could’ve gotten the information at the same time. Four days after Yeoman i
s returned to Santa Barbara County, he turns up dead at Lake Cachuma. That gives Usherwood possibly eleven day’s heads-up that Yeoman has given evidence against him. No matter what hole he’s crawled into, no matter in what part of the world, he’s got plenty of time to reenter the country—assuming that he actually left—and be in place when Yeoman is unceremoniously dropped off at a halfway house.”

  “Or, Usherwood stays in his hole and contracts out the hit,” Mike added.

  “Right. Either way works.”

  “So, what else can we surmise from this scant bit of information?”

  Madeline looked back at her timeline. “Was Usherwood out of the country, or has he been lying low all this time?” she wondered out loud.

  “I don’t personally know the man, but it seems like it would really cramp his style to go underground for three years,” Mike said.

  “So you think he’s been out of the country?”

  Mike nodded. “Don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I really can’t picture him skulking around in some backwoods all this time. He’s a man who’s traveled the world. There are dozens of places he’d have connections who could take him in and give him a new identity.” This last thought gave them both pause.

  “We don’t know who we’re looking for, even if it is Usherwood we’re looking for,” Madeline said, her voice trailing off as she conjured up his face as she last saw it. “It may just be my paranoia, but I had this sense of Lionel Usherwood’s presence in my house,” she said, her gaze going inward as she thought back to the previous night, barely ten hours earlier. “It was almost like I could smell him…like he left pheromones or something.” She shivered at the thought. She had the sudden image of a coyote: a creature possessing stealth and cunning and the ability to vanish in the blink of an eye, just like Lionel Usherwood.

  Mike’s features tightened as he assessed the probability of Madeline being able to pick up on Usherwood’s presence. She had amazing instincts; that had become clear while they did their three-year apprenticeship with Russell Barnett. By the time they were qualified to take the state exam, Madeline’s deductive reasoning and “woman smarts” ran circles around Barnett’s stodgy methodology. He even admitted as much when he said Burt would’ve been proud of her.

  Looking at her now, Mike was more than proud of her. It had not taken her long after the initial trespass into her safe space to collect her wits and take the personal element out of the equation. Sure, they were dealing with the type of criminal that didn’t normally pop up in their line of investigation. But the difference here was Madeline’s familiarity with the coldblooded mercenary.

  “Then my money’s on Usherwood making the kill and giving you a warning,” he concluded.

  “Do you think he rearranged my furniture just out of a sick desire to scare me? Or do you think he did it as a preamble to something worse?” By the look on Mike’s face, Madeline could guess the answer. She got up and went to the window. The sun was already casting long shadows on its way up over the horizon.

  “This is why I can’t let you out of my sight,” Mike said, coming up behind her.

  “I spotted an unmarked car out there,” she said, walking away from the window so Mike could see for himself. He had no trouble picking out the two federal agents in their generic unmarked car.

  “Well, that’s good. If we can see them, Usherwood can too. He’s not going to make a move on you in front of them. And I doubt he’s crazy enough to take out a couple of law enforcement agents.” Madeline shook her head in disagreement.

  “Unless they’ve got agents dressed as homeless people covering the front, sitting in their car behind the building is going to do little good.”

  “That goes back to my original point. You need a personal bodyguard,” Mike said, pointing his fingers to the obvious choice.

  “We’ve already been through that,” Madeline replied, retaking her seat.

  “You can get me onto the estate. I know you can. You’re Miss Smarty Pants—figure out something,” Mike said, sitting on the edge of her desk.

  “Oh God,” she lamented, knowing Mike would badger her until he got his way. She also knew he only wanted to protect her. But the thought of him hovering over her day and night made her want to crawl out of her skin.

  She drummed her fingers on the desk while she regarded him. He was an imposing figure, and he had plenty of that “don’t mess with me” attitude. A firm from L.A. had been brought in to handle security for the weekend. She could hardly approach them with the reason for needing a security detail of her own. Just what nobody wanted to hear about: a killer on the loose with a vendetta against her.

  She was racking her brain when the solution suddenly occurred to her.

  “Who are you calling?” Mike asked. Madeline ignored him as she rehearsed her spiel.

  “Bonjour Philippe,” she said, turning to give Mike a naughty smile. “Ça va, ça va. Et tu?” She giggled prettily, enjoying Mike’s discomfort. “Look, Philippe, I’ve got a situation on my hands and I need your help. But you have to keep this under your toque…it’s very important that no one else knows about this, ça va?”

  Madeline explained to Philippe Sautot that she was running a private investigation at the Alexander estate on top of her event coordination duties. This was true, but it didn’t necessitate Mike going undercover. But there was no reason to complicate matters, and the less Philippe knew, the better.

  “Yes, he has a white dress shirt and a black bowtie,” she said, delighting in the stunned expression on Mike’s face as he realized what she’d just committed him to. He huffed petulantly, obviously peeved. Madeline merely shrugged and continued the conversation, in French, to further irritate him.

  “Well, it’s all set. You’ll be part of the wait staff, but mostly as decoration. You can stand around with a silver tray and collect empty glasses, but you’ll be able to stay on the floor, so to speak.”

  “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

  Madeline couldn’t help but see the humor of the situation. It was likely the last bit of levity she’d come across for the near future. Her mood sobered when she realized this could be her last laugh. “Okay, I need to get back to work. Lauren will be here pretty soon.”

  “What should I do?” Mike asked. Madeline looked up at him, her mind already engaged with other matters.

  “I don’t know… You’re a smart guy, figure it out. What about the case you got yesterday?”

  “Already closed.” Madeline’s expression showed she was appropriately impressed.

  “Good. Now you need to find another one. Oh…I completely forgot to tell you—I picked up a case yesterday too. With all the chaos last night, it slipped my mind.”

  “How did you manage to pick up a case with everything else you’ve got going on?” Mike asked as he slid into the chair opposite her.

  He was all smiles now. This was how he had envisioned their partnership while they slogged through Russell Barnett’s drudgework: talking over their own investigations, brainstorming together, working in tandem on a stakeout. This is why he had hung around all that time.

  “I was approached by Cherie’s mother-in-law, Vivian Story.”

  “Oh right, the actress. She’s up in her years, isn’t she?”

  “She’s eighty-four, but still firing on all cylinders.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s being stalked by a crazed fan.”

  “No. It seems someone has pilfered some very expensive jewelry from her room—very pricey heirlooms given to her by her late husband.”

  “Stolen jewels. Wow, that’s a big deal.” Madeline knew from the way he said that he had reservations about their ability to handle something as difficult as this. Hot rocks were extremely hard to track down. “Got any leads?”

  “Well, there are plenty of players, but I took the case as a background check on her companion
, a young Latina that I found out last night is using a fake social and a nonexistent address.”

  “Uh huh,” Mike muttered thoughtfully, already warming to the challenge. “What’s your next move, Sherlock?” Madeline looked at the clock on her computer: 8:07.

  “I was planning on waiting until 8:30 to make contact with the woman whose mother employed Teresa—if that’s even her real name—prior to Miss Story. Vivian gave me the daughter’s name. She lives up in the Valley, and fortunately I think I found her husband’s info online. Hopefully. If not, I guess I’ll have to go snooping around Casa Contento.”

  “Why wait? Make the call now, before she goes out for the day.”

  “You’re right.” Madeline put her hand on the phone and gave Mike a meaningful look that sailed right over his head. “Go on,” she said, flicking her hand to shoo him away. Mike was clearly offended. “I can’t think with you staring at me. Go on—go fiddle with your website or something. And don’t forget to pick up a shirt and bowtie when the formalwear shop opens.”

  “Well, thank you for your time. I appreciate all your insights.”

  “Happy to help. I hope Teresa will continue to work out for Vivian. She is such a dear woman. I remember watching her old movies with my mom when I was a child. Such a class act,” Sybil Wately said.

  “That she is,” Madeline replied as she looked over her notes for anything she might’ve missed.

  “Please give her my regards.”

  “I sure will. Thanks again.”

  Madeline hung up the phone and ruminated over what she’d just learned. At this point, she couldn’t put too much stock in a coincidence, yet she certainly found the prospect troubling. She opened a new file in her case management software and entered all the pertinent info. She typed up her notes, then printed everything. When she had finished, she called Lauren into her office.

  “Please make a new file folder for our second case,” Madeline said, handing the pages to her.

  “Awesome. When did you get this?” Lauren asked. She had the answer a second later when she saw the client’s name.