Exposed

by Laura Griffin

  At times like these, the kitchen was the hub. People would sit around the table, drinking coffee and whispering platitudes. The occasional logistical question—roses or lilies? what time for the vigil?—would throw everyone into a flurry of action, until things settled down again and it was back to hushed voices.

  Maddie had hated it. The relatives. The clergy. The well-meaning neighbors. Just a few days into it, and the mere sight of another chicken casserole had made her physically ill. She’d wanted every one of them out of her house, including her own parents. And when the funeral was over and she’d finally gotten her wish, she’d been left with the cloying scent of flowers and a freezer full of dishes that needed to be returned and an empty house and a deafening silence.

  Then she’d wanted the people back, because the silence was so much worse than all of it.

  She watched the Murphys’ house, and it all came back to her, like that first ache before the onset of the flu. She recognized the setup, the players. She recognized the moves. On duty at the Murphy house right now was the A-team, with maybe a B-teamer or two thrown in there. She knew the players because she’d seen them, in all their hideous desperation, on TV the other day.

  Soon after the media had gotten wind of Jolene’s kidnapping, Jennifer Murphy had taken to the airwaves, hoping that pleas and prayer groups would somehow bring her daughter back. Maddie had watched, riveted. She’d felt every word Jennifer Murphy said like a dart to the chest, and she’d actually been jealous of the woman because she had the thing Maddie had been denied.

  Hope.

  Please let her come home. If you have Jolene, please let her come home to us.

  A slender silver-haired woman walked up the driveway now, tugging a dachshund behind her. Jolene’s grandmother. Maddie watched the woman deposit a plastic bag into the trashcan beside the garage, then pull open the back door to step inside.

  Maddie’s gaze went to the bay window facing the driveway. A trio of people sat at the kitchen table: Jennifer and two others, a man and a woman. Siblings, maybe? Close friends?

  Seeing them reminded Maddie of her own family. It reminded her of their persistent efforts to help her, their persistent gestures.

  They’d helped, and they hadn’t. Truthfully, Maddie hardly remembered what they’d done and said. Everything had been a blur. And she looked at Jennifer Murphy in her kitchen and knew it was a blur right now for her, too.

  Maddie swiped the tears from her cheeks. What was she doing here? It made no sense. None at all. It was actually kind of creepy to drive all the way to a stranger’s home and spy on the kitchen from across the street. And yet she hadn’t been able to stay away.

  She started her car again and pulled out, avoiding the gazes of the curious FBI agents who’d been staked out at the end of the block and had no doubt been running her license plate as she sat there, watching the Murphys’ house.

  She wended her way toward home, but melancholy overtook her as she contemplated her dark living room and her empty bed and the endless hours of unbearable quiet.

  She thought of the invitation she’d turned down as she’d left work earlier, and before she’d even realized she’d made a decision, she was pulling a U-turn and heading east, to the seedy part of town that had all the best bars. She found a parking space and a short minute later found Brooke inside, seated near the pool table, where some guys from the lab were in the middle of a game.

  “Hey, you made it!” Brooke’s face brightened as Maddie pulled out a chair.

  “Hi.”

  “Our waitress just left.” Brooke waved her back. “What do you want, a vodka cranberry?”

  Maddie ordered straight cranberry and looked at Brooke. “Sorry, I’ve got to work later. I’m in court tomorrow, and I’m getting behind.”

  Brooke eyed her as she tipped her beer back, probably annoyed to be reminded of all the paperwork she’d blown off to go out tonight. She set her bottle down.

  “I should probably work, too, but . . .” She shrugged. “It’ll be there tomorrow.”

  Maddie wished she could have that attitude. She probably spent an unhealthy amount of time on her job, but it pretty much dominated her life.

  Maybe she should get out more. Socialize. She gazed at the pool table, where Ben and Roland looked to be engaged in friendly game, probably with a wager on the table. They always asked her to play, and she always said no. She watched the next few shots and listened to their banter back and forth.

  “They’ve got a hundred bucks riding on this one,” Brooke said, resting her bottle on the table. “You want to challenge the winner?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “I might. I’m feeling lucky.” Brooke looked at her, and a sly grin spread across her face. “So, how’s Brian?”

  “How’d you hear about Brian?”

  The grin widened as the waitress swung by and dropped off a glass of juice.

  “Ben saw you at Blackjack’s. In the parking lot.”

  Maddie closed her eyes. She heard the clink of Brooke’s beer bottle against her glass.

  “And don’t look like that,” Brooke said. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you went for it for once. God. I was starting to think you were off men for good.”

  “What?”

  She laughed. “Not really. But Roland was. I guess he couldn’t imagine any other reason you were immune to his irresistible pheromones.”

  Maddie took a gulp of her drink and wished it had booze in it. Someone from work had seen her making out with Brian in a bar parking lot. Very classy. But the damage was done, and all she could do now was hope the gossip would blow over and people would think it was a one-time thing. Because it was.

  “What else is wrong?”

  She looked at Brooke, and the teasing grin was gone.

  “You’ve been crying,” Brooke said. “And I know it’s not over a man, so what happened?”

  Maddie hesitated a moment.

  “I went by the Murphys’.”

  “The who?”

  “Jolene Murphy. I went by her parents’ house.”

  “Why?” But the second Brooke said it, understanding seemed to dawn. She leaned closer, looking concerned. “Did you talk to them?”

  “No.”

  She looked at her, waiting for an explanation. Maddie didn’t have one. Brooke was always telling her not to let cases get personal. Maddie knew that. And usually, she didn’t. Or actually, she did, but she usually kept her reaction to herself.

  “Maddie—”

  “You’re wasting your breath, okay? I know. God, all those yellow ribbons. On every tree.”

  Jealousy reared its head again. Maddie would have tied a yellow ribbon around every blade of grass if it could have brought Emma back.

  Brooke squeezed her hand, surprising her. She wasn’t the touchy-feely type.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No,” Maddie said firmly.

  “Okay, then tell me about the FBI agent.” She sipped her beer.

  Maddie returned her attention to the pool table. She thought about the tide of gossip. After her divorce, she’d worked hard to set herself apart from it all. Not to let it get to her. To be an island.

  I know it’s complicated, but I like you.

  Maybe Mitch was right.

  “You know, my ex told me the problem with our marriage was that I didn’t need anybody.”

  Brooke snorted. “The problem with your marriage was you married a dickhead.”

  Maddie sipped her drink. It was cold and tart and decidedly lacking in anything that was going to help her loosen up.

  Brooke and Mitch were both right. Her marriage had been loaded with problems, and one of them was the fact that Maddie closed herself off. It was her natural tendency, but it had gotten worse after Emma died. The pain had been unbearable, like a living thing trying to claw its way out of her chest. She’d somehow made it through one endless day at a time. She’d survived the unfa
thomable, something you couldn’t really know until you were in it.

  You’re tough, Maddie. You’re a survivor. Her parents had told her that over and over during the first year. But Maddie saw her life more objectively now—at least, she thought she did—and what she saw disturbed her. She’d survived, yes, but what did that mean, really? Because part of her hadn’t survived at all. Part of her was buried in that little white coffin with Emma.

  There were moments now when she knew she should be connecting with people, when she wanted to connect with people, but she felt blank. She just felt nothing at all.

  I know it’s complicated, but I like you.

  She wanted to believe him, but she was too cynical to believe anything anymore. Sure, she believed he liked the sex. Who wouldn’t? They’d been off the charts together—which was a surprise in itself. She hadn’t realized she was capable of feeling that.

  But aside from the sex, he’d seemed so sincere. She couldn’t get her mind around it. Those lady-killer looks, that confident swagger. It didn’t make sense, and yet . . . was it possible he was sincere? Had she somehow lucked into the last sincere, smart, ridiculously handsome bachelor in the state of Texas?

  The answer, of course, was no. The mere idea of it terrified her. She didn’t do relationships. She had her work, her mission. It was enough for her. She’d been through too much soul-crushing loss in her life to open herself up to fantasies.

  Brooke nudged her elbow. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re looking kinda not fine. You sure you don’t want something stronger than that?”

  “Yeah, and actually, I should probably get going.” She stood up. “I’ve still got stuff to do tonight.”

  Brooke grinned. “I sure hope you mean Brian.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Hey, not my business. I’m just telling you what I hope.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “What’s going on with you and Maddie?”

  Brian looked across the car at Sam. “What do you mean?”

  Sam rolled up to a stoplight and shot him a look. “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “I don’t know. Couple days ago.”

  Sam laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  Brian looked at him.

  “That setup was perfect,” he said. “I can’t believe you didn’t close the deal.”

  Brian looked out the window as a pair of female joggers crossed the street. Out of habit, he studied their faces. They were the right age, but neither bore the slightest resemblance to Jolene Murphy. He glanced at Sam. “What?”

  “You did, didn’t you? I knew it. You closed the deal, but then you fucked it up. What’d she do, give you the boot?”

  Brian didn’t say anything as Sam zeroed in on what had been eating away at him for days now. The only thing more frustrating than Maddie giving him the brush-off was her giving him the brush-off immediately after they’d had sex. He thought back to the argument in her kitchen. Even in retrospect, it was about as fun as a kick in the balls.

  “Damn it, Beckman. I can’t believe you.” The light turned green, and he punched the gas. “I thought you had more staying power.”

  Brian didn’t respond. He wasn’t talking about this. He especially wasn’t talking about it with Sam, who couldn’t even keep his own marriage together. Cops were notoriously shitty at relationships, and Brian’s coworkers were no exception.

  “That’s the problem with guys like you. If there’s ever any effort involved, you give up too easily.”

  Brian kept his mouth shut. He hadn’t given up on anything—she had. She’d actually used the word friends, too, as if there was a chance in hell they could be friends again. It was flat-out impossible. No way could he go back to being friends with Maddie after he’d had her laid out on his kitchen table like a damn buffet.

  They turned into the office complex, and the guard waved them through. Sam swung into a parking space, and they climbed out of the Taurus as Elizabeth LeBlanc pushed through the door.

  “I just got off the phone with Vega.”

  “Vega?” Sam asked.

  “Homicide detective in Los Angeles,” Brian reminded him. “What’d he say?”

  Elizabeth stopped in front of them and folded her arms over her chest. “Turns out Gillian Dawson had just moved into the apartment she was living in at the time of her murder.”

  Brian and Sam looked at her, waiting.

  “And guess who the previous tenant was, who’d just been evicted for not paying rent? Nicole Sands of San Marcos, Texas.”

  “You’re kidding. How—”

  “Twenty-two years old,” she said, predicting Brian’s question. “And get this—she’s five-two and blond, just like Gillian Dawson.”

  “Holy shit.” Sam looked at him. “They killed the wrong girl.”

  Maddie stepped out of the courthouse into a slap of cold air. She hurried down the steps and searched the line of cars parked on the street.

  “Damn it,” she muttered as she spotted the ticket stuck to her windshield.

  “Maddie.”

  She whirled around, recognizing the deep voice even before she spotted him. “Hi.” She felt a burst of happiness—quickly followed by nerves. “What are you doing here?”

  Brian stopped in front of her and gazed down, and she felt a punch of emotion so strong she took a step back. God, he was beautiful—tall and muscular, with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of a suit that didn’t look expensive but was perfectly tailored to his big frame. She resisted the urge to smooth her hands over his lapels.

  “I was going to ask you the same question,” he said.

  “I had to testify.”

  “Again?”

  “Comes with the job. You?”

  “I was at the bank.” He glanced back over his shoulder toward the CenTex building, and she could see by the expression on his face that whatever he’d wanted there, he’d been disappointed.

  He turned to look at her. “You done? We could grab some lunch.”

  The expression on his face was completely bland. He could take it or leave it. But maybe there was more to the offer than she was seeing.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “What don’t you know?” Again, carefully blank.

  But fine. If he wanted to act as if this wasn’t their first social encounter since That Night, she could play along.

  “How about Pino’s?” She nodded toward the deli across the street. “They have good subs.”

  “Pino’s it is.” He fell into step beside her, and she hitched her purse up onto her shoulder. She glanced over and noticed him looking at her shoes.

  Her nerves jumped as she remembered them thudding against the wall of his bedroom.

  This was a bad idea. She should make it quick. And casual. When she reached the sub shop, she grabbed the door before he could open it for her.

  The restaurant was warm like an oven and smelled of fresh-baked bread. Maddie slipped her coat off and draped it over her arm.

  “You know that woman?”

  She looked at Brian, who was reading the menu board.

  “Navy suit,” he said. “Two o’clock.”

  She glanced across the restaurant, and sure enough, a woman in a navy-blue suit was watching her. She quickly looked away.

  “That’s Rae Loveland, the criminal defense attorney from the trial this morning,” Maddie said. “She doesn’t like me much.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ve gone toe-to-toe a few times in the courtroom.”

  “Really?” Brian looked intrigued.

  “She’s especially unhappy with me today. I probably helped put her client away for shooting a cop.”

  “Good for you.”

  They reached the register. Maddie whipped out her wallet, and for once, he didn’t object when she paid for her meal. He paid for his, too. Friends out to lunch. Not a date. Not even a sort-of date.


  They found a minuscule table by the window Brian had to shift his legs around, because they were too long for the narrow space. He dug into his food without even looking at her, and she felt relieved.

  She unwrapped her sandwich, subtly trying to pick up on his body cues. He seemed relaxed. Unperturbed. Basically, the opposite of how he’d seemed the other day in her kitchen.

  Had it really only been two days?

  So much had happened. And so much hadn’t happened. Jolene Murphy hadn’t miraculously been found and returned to her family. The case hadn’t miraculously been solved—as far as Maddie knew.

  She watched Brian eat his sandwich and wondered if he’d tell her if they had any big leads. Probably not.

  He glanced up at her. Then he glanced over her shoulder, and his mouth quirked up.

  “What?”

  “The lawyer. I’m trying to imagine the two of you duking it out.”

  “I duke it out with lawyers all the time. The more important a photo is to a case, the more effort they make to discredit me at trial.”

  He met her gaze, but now his expression was unreadable.

  “So,” she said. “I’m glad I bumped into you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought you were upset with me.”

  “How come?” He sipped his drink through the straw.

  “You didn’t call.”

  “Neither did you.”

  She searched his face, looking for any hint of resentment. “So we’re good, then?”

  “We’re friends.” He rested his drink on the table. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

  His tone was blasé, but her guard went up.

  “You don’t think I can do it, do you?” He smiled slightly.

  “Do what?”

  “Be your friend without hitting on you.”

  “I don’t think that at all. You probably have lots of female friends.”

  The smile widened. Shame on her. That was a fishing expedition, and he’d seen right through it. His female friends—or lack thereof—were none of her business.