For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1) (7 page)

S
he turned
on her heels and sauntered through the door Nathan held open as though she hadn’t just pulled the pin on a grenade. From the slack jaw and near cross-eyed expression on Chief’s face, he hadn’t seen that one coming either. Nathan shook himself and hurried to catch Madelyn.

The bitch of a receptionist braced her large bosom and even larger mouth with her hands. Guess she’d caught the news too. His wingtips clacked on the tile floor. He increased the tempo to gain on her slapping sandals. The one who’d had the closest connection with the victim seemed the least affected by the recent exchange. And that troubled Nathan in more ways than one.

“What did you mean by, ‘I have?’” His baritone echoed in the deserted hallway.

“I meant I’d be fine in the presence of a dead body.” Her steps continued on toward the foyer where a big lump of fur waited in the dim light.

“I gathered that.”

“Then why’d you ask again?” She shoved through the glass doors. Deacon sprang to his feet with his ears pricked and his tail wagging.

“You know why I asked,” Nathan growled.

The dog’s ears slicked. His chest puffed.

Madelyn ignored him and planted a hand on the heavy entrance door.

Nathan’s arm shot out. His hand cemented hers to the cold metal, boxing her in the frame of his body. Her rigid heat brushed his side. The contact offset the chill and made the day in the jungles seem downright tepid in comparison.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

Her dark hair swayed under his breath, tickling his chin. And if touching her wasn’t enough to make him dumb, he’d blow a one-point-oh on a Breathalyzer from the intoxication of her scent.

A quiet snarl reverberated in the tiny room.

Though really Nathan wasn’t one hundred percent certain which of the two had given the warning, he shifted his gaze to meet Deacon’s. “Pipe down. This is for her own good.”

The noise quieted and the dog sat.

“How in the hell is this for my own good?” She whipped her head around and tried to bore a hole into him with her dark eyes.

“If I don't know your story, how can I protect you?”

“I don’t need protection. I need to see my friend.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, which was way too close for either of their own good. Luckily her supple lips formed a hard line. He let his fingers slide over the smooth back of her hand. “Let’s go. Deacon, you’re in the back.”

He started forward, but bumped into her stalled backside. “Sorry.”

“I’m taking my own car.” She shoved through the door and angled for her Jeep.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Because?”

“High emotions and operating a nearly three-hundred-horsepower machine don’t mesh well.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

She opened the door, let Deacon load, and met his gaze. Absently, she rubbed her palm over the back of the hand he’d touched. “I keep saying it because one day it’ll be true.”

G
rey clouds blotted
the sun’s dying rays. Madelyn downshifted, an especially difficult task with a big blockhead in her lap. The moment she’d fastened her seatbelt he crawled over, straddling the console with his extra large body. He knew. Without her having to say a word, he knew something bad had happened. She stared at the road and followed the SUV around a curve to keep from thinking.

All too soon they pulled in front of a massive green military-style tent in the center of an empty lot. Agent Brewer slid out of his rental. Its door groaned like an ancient relic as he heaved the door with a bit more force than necessary.

Madelyn lifted Deacon’s head to her mouth and smacked a kiss between his brows. “I have to go for a few minutes. You can’t come with me. I’m sorry.” She scooted out the vehicle. He pulled the rest of his body over the hump and curled into the driver’s seat.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

He’d lost the coat, but his sleeves were still buttoned and his tie pulled tight. She’d wanted to yank him by it earlier and scream for him to mind his own damn business. But he’d found Nichole. One way or the other. Just like he’d said. So, she’d kept her hands to herself.

“I’m not going to fall apart,” she said.

“It’s okay if you do.”

Experience wouldn’t allow her to lose her cool in front of anyone, except her dog.When she didn’t respond he frowned and walked ahead. “This way.” At the makeshift doorway he pulled the flap back and ushered her inside with a wave of his hand.

Stale air infused with chemicals stung her nostrils. Mobile air conditioners at war with the heat and humidity hummed. A person covered hair-to-toe in a white hazmat-style suit shifted back and forth at a row of machines at the far end of the tent. Two agents—she guessed by the black T-shirts with the letters FBI stamped over the breast—talked quietly over a map.

She followed Agent Brewer as he made his way toward the rear of the tent. Reaching a partition, he called out, “Artie.” Ten seconds later a short bald man appeared from behind the green canvas. Crow’s feet laced his kind blue eyes.

The man reached out his hand. “You must be Madelyn Garrett. I am Artie Stergin, the team’s lead forensic analyst and coroner. I am very sorry for your loss. But you know you don’t have to do this. She has already been identified by Mr. Gallow.”

Madelyn’s stomach rolled like a sailboat caught in a squall. She pictured Jim smiling over Nichole’s lifeless body. Identified by her killer. The sentiment was wrong in every way something could be wrong. Somehow, she didn’t give in to the urge to flee or vomit.

“I am here...to say goodbye,” she whispered.

“All right.” The old man nodded. “I’ve cleaned Mrs. Gallow up as much as possible. You can take all the time you need. Whenever you’re ready…”

Scared that with more time she’d lose her nerve, she jumped in. “I’m ready.”

Nichole’s body lay covered on a table in the center of the room. Tables filled with beakers, microscopes, evidence bags, and other analysis equipment lined the canvas walls of the room. Artie walked around the table and faced Madelyn, while Nathan stood a few feet back to her right.

Artie canted his head. She nodded for him to proceed. The white sheet rolled gently back and her friend’s swollen and sallow face came into view.

Madelyn wanted to scream and cover her own face. She wanted to turn and run. Forever. Instead, she looked more carefully. She blocked out the horrors in front of her and searched for her friend’s familiar features, the things she’d loved.

She found the beauty mark just below Nichole’s left eye. She found the smile lines framing her friend’s lips. Nichole had called them ‘preemptive wrinkles.’ Those were the things she would remember. Those were the things she would miss.

A weight heavier than the sea crushed Madelyn’s spirit. She didn’t want to say goodbye. She swallowed the tears threatening to escape.

I’m sorry, Nichole. I wish I could have, no, I wish I
would
have done more to help you. I can’t change this, but I can make sure he doesn’t get away with it. I miss you already. I will miss you forever. Thank you for being my friend. I love you.

A fissure formed in Madelyn’s stoic resolve. Sadness welled. She turned hoping to escape the tent and the torrent of emotions dogging her heels. Agent Brewer’s wide chest brought her and her seeping waterworks up short. Sometime in her goodbye he’d closed the gap between them. Only his firm grip on her shoulders kept her from crashing into him…or the ground, in an effort to add distance between them. Quite literally the man threw her off balance.

His eyes were hooded with concern. Refusing to hold his gaze for fear her mental state would disintegrate, she dropped hers to his stubbled chin. The proximity and shadow of hair revealed a dip in the cleft of his firm jaw that she hadn’t noticed yesterday.

Silently his hands dropped and he stepped back. Without a glance Madelyn bolted, retreating through the doors. When at last fresh air filled her lungs, the sky loomed as black as her heavy heart. Desperate to alleviate the stench of death she heaved several breaths.

“Madelyn.” He hadn’t called her by name before. It resonated in his deep tones and raised a flush across her skin.

She stopped walking only when she reached her Jeep, and then turned to face him. Her weak grip latched onto the door. The hunk of metal and Deacon’s mossy scent steadied her weak knees. “Thank you for letting me say goodbye.”

Again he’d come closer than she expected. His shoulder nearly grazed the side mirror of her vehicle. And again his deep gaze yanked her under. Yes, sadness haunted his dark eyes, but the textured layers of intensity, lust, and sincerity made interesting textures. She needed the reprieve from reality. His gaze eased its crippling weight.

“Madelyn, you need to go into protective custody.”

Just like that, reality crushed her. That she remained upright after the blow only attested to her resolve not to reveal the storm raging inside. But she couldn’t hide her puzzlement. “What! Why?”

“I think you could be his next victim.”

“Jim won’t touch me.”

“I don’t think its Jim.”

“But you don’t have any proof that it’s not.”

“Please, listen.” The striated muscles of his jaw flexed.

Biting her lip to stave off the rain of tears, she did as he asked.

“You’d be taken to a safe house until we get this guy. A couple of weeks max. We’re so close to getting this bastard. We would set up a decoy in your house and catch him when he makes his move.”

“I’m not going to let anyone run me off again. So, Agent Brewer, you do what you need to do to catch
whoever
did this to my friend.”

With that she retreated to the safety of her car. Agent Brewer stood like a statue of a Greek god, or perhaps a gargoyle, from the sneering expression on his face, and watched her leave. She wheeled onto the main road out of the agent’s sight and Deacon turned to face the back of the Jeep. He hung his head low and whined a pitiful song.

T
he clack
of her bolt sliding into place shattered the last of her resolve. Waves of guilt and loss knocked Madelyn to her knees. The unforgiving impact of the tiles stung inconsequentially compared to the ache in her chest. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and crashed to the floor. Its contents scattered. A tube of lipstick she never wore pirouetted. Tears distorted the mess into marbled gobs.

Her fists beat the cool floor until her breaths became so labored she splayed them on the burnt orange clay to keep from flattening her nose on them. A screech so animalistic it belonged in the wild pinged off the terra cotta. Wetness pooled beneath her fingers. When her tears ran out and fatigue dulled the rage she curled into a ball.

A chill settled in her marrow. How had her neatly ordered life come crashing down around her? Why did hell’s hounds gnash at her heels? She knew the answer. Madelyn slammed her eyes shut in the dark house to block out the undeniable truth. Still it seeped in like the cold.

Because you’re a murderer
.

The old wounds gaped as though never healed. And they weren’t. And they never would be.

Silent and tearless sobs wracked her prone form. Just when the cold and solitude became too much to bear the quiet tap of paws shuffled her way. Humid breath coursed through her hair and onto her neck. Then, in a heap, Deacon piled himself against her knotted arms and legs.

Relief from the cold came little by little, thawing her bones and stemming the hopelessness that was tomorrow. Her lids grew heavy. Her will to move faded. And so a dreamless sleep claimed her.

Stiff lids opened to the break of day spilling in through the windows. Deacon’s big striped head lay a few inches from her nose. She tightened the arm she’d draped over the pup at some point in the night.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The words came out as a grumbled croak. Her throat burned as though she’d swallowed a cactus bulb and washed it down with acid. She nuzzled her face in the dog’s neck and held him close for as long as her screaming hip could stand. Rolling onto her back, she took in the wood ceiling, the underside of the bar, the scarred legs of the two-seater table across from it, and the tiny granules of sand that had migrated in from the beach only a couple of feet away.

Her gaze jumped to the clock on the oven. On any other Monday she’d be zooming around the place trying to get out the door to meet Nichole at the gym. Today there was no point. She wouldn’t be there. Ever again.

Numbness traveled from her hip and shoulder, blanketing her in a shroud of apathy. At the very least she needed to get up and get ready for work, but she couldn’t find the will to move.

Finally she flayed herself from the floor and shuffled into the bathroom. Madelyn stared at her toothbrush for several minutes before turning away. The bathtub knobs squeaked under her hand and the water rushed from the faucet. She popped the diverter and the shower rained like her tears had last night.

Maybe she’d cried them all out. Because she couldn’t summon even a mist of emotion. She closed the toilet lid, sat, and peeled off one item at a time. Exhaustion taxed her muscles, making the simple task seem as though she were doing it in a vat of syrup.

When she stepped into the shower cool water jolted her indifference. This wasn’t about her. There were children depending on her to explain the inexplicable. There were children who would undoubtedly need a shoulder to cry on or a coherent party to listen. She had to be that for them. And that necessity was the only thing that got her dressed.

If Madelyn thought the night was bad, the day was one hundred times worse. The entire school reeled from the news. Children wept, some to themselves, others in groups, while tiny tears drenched her shirt. It was a bit of hell on Earth.

The sun shined, but the day clouded with grief.

The night brought fitful sleep until exhaustion took over. But she didn’t wake refreshed. She woke in a vengeful furry. Hate replaced sorrow. Her jaw clenched tight and her nails dug into her palms.

The spark of Nichole’s murder ignited a long-dormant rage. She dressed in record time and sprinted, churning sand all the way to the gym. Deacon didn’t circle her once. In fact, he kept his distance.

A rectangle of plywood used to fortify the storefront in case of a hurricane covered the broken glass door. Madelyn yanked the handle and hoisted it open. Jim had wrecked her world. The blatant evidence in the four walls of a place that had represented her new beginning ratcheted her misfit temper.

Amadi was nowhere to be seen and for that she was grateful. He would have wanted her to calm down and find her center, but she didn’t want peace. Her fists, still squeezed tight, coaxed small hues of red to the surface of her skin where the fingernails cut into her hands. The whites of her knuckles turned red. Her jaw clenched tight as the anger stirred. She wanted blood and fury.

Today the bag would not do. She needed a person to unleash her hell upon. She jumped on the edge of the ring where two men rehashed the details of their previous triumphs. These were the kind of men she typically shied away from. They fought dirty and took wins however they could get them, but today she didn’t care. She leaped over the rope. The larger man backed away from his friend with a condescending smile. “I’ll let you take this one.”

Her opponent outweighed her by eighty pounds. The gusts of his meaty arms nearly threw her off balance. One blow would stop her misery cold in its tracks. He planted his feet in the center of the ring. His crooked nose and narrowed eyes taunted her to step into the reach of his fists.

He was strong, but she was fast, focused, and pissed at the universe. She swept his feet from under him and planted her foot a few inches from his temple, winning the match only a few minutes into the bout. Thirsty for more, she didn’t relish the win. Luckily, his friend wanted to prove his worth. He traveled the ring, dogging her into corners, and forcing her to fight her way out. The sting of her overworked muscles distracted her from the ache in her chest. The burn of her lungs overtook the sizzle of her rage. She lost the bout four to five, but exhaustion numbed the loss that had nothing to do with punches and kicks.

Arms draped over the top rope, Madelyn sucked in steady breaths. Heavy-hitter and his hard-nosed friend ambled from her right. When she turned to meet their gazes she noticed the audience they’d gathered on the other side of the ring. Red fury had eroded her peripheral vision. Ekene and Nathan Brewer sat on a wooden bench at the ring’s edge.

Hard-nose offered his hand. “Nice work. You pack a whole lot of anger into that little frame.”

She shook his hand, but didn’t say anything. What would she say to that?

Wish I didn’t.

He and his friend headed toward the lockers and she put her newly found powers of observation to work on Agent Brewer. He sported the same scowl he’d had the night before, but he’d changed from the suit. A nicely worn pair of jeans hugged his thighs. His T-shirt tattooed the FBI crest to his left pec. Sun-kissed arms jutted from the sleeves and stretched them taut.

Luckily, Ekene’s boisterous claps cut her study short. He whistled though big lips. “Nice…you nearly mopped the floor with their guts, girl. You know, Amadi would give you hell for that little fit.” He shot her a sly smile and turned up his palms. “But he’s not here, is he?”

Nathan stood and braced both hands on the canvas. “We need to talk.” He bit the words between shiny teeth.

“Hop in.” She nodded toward the middle of the ring and gave a sweet smile.