Madison's Quest (16 page)

Tyler shrugged. “Not fast enough.”

His heartbeat remained steady and strong beneath her palm,
even as her feelings for him deepened.

Shane returned, setting the fingerprinting kit on the table.

Tyler eased away.

Shane dusted the bottle and spoon and syringe.

They’d been wiped clean.

The bullet was the same.

The box would be too if they bothered to dust it when they
got back to his place or Tyler’s.

Tyler gathered the drag paraphernalia and pills into the
bandanna then grabbed the beer bottle. “I’ll get rid of this shit. Meet you at
the Jeep.”

Shane began packing up the fingerprinting kit.

Madison slid off the bench seat, biting her bottom lip as
she watched Tyler walk away.

“He’s tough,” Shane said, sounding gruff.

“I hate that my coming to California is dredging up old
memories for him.”

Shane grasped her hair, tugged. “Don’t go there. He wouldn’t
want it, and besides, the shit he went through before he landed in his last
group home gets stirred from time to time. He deals with it. It goes away.”

She turned her head to look at Shane. “He didn’t tell me he
was in foster care.” But thinking about it, a kid OD-ing at twelve would have
caused child protective services to swoop.

Shane shrugged. “It’s not a secret. His parents were junkies
and drunks. He was in and out of foster care pretty much from the get-go.
Fucking legal system kept putting him back. Even after his brother died, they
sent Tyler home one more time.”

Tyler disappeared into the public toilet.

Shane released her hair to comb through it, the stroke of
his fingertips on her neck sending a shiver of delight through her.

“If you ask him, he’ll tell you that he landed in a good
place. Hell, he’ll even tell you that the first day of his new life was the day
he showed up at school and ended up sitting next to Lyric.”

Madison had to laugh. “After meeting her, I am so not
surprised.”

Shane pulled her against him. “You did just witness my
expertise in the area of fingerprinting. That’s not something a wuss could pull
off.”

“Are we back to that? Tyler was the one who called you a
wuss, not me.”

“True. But I didn’t hear you rushing to defend my manly
prowess. So that means we need to discuss payment for services rendered.”

“I am holding your IOU if you’ll remember.”

“Reduced by a hundred. Make sure
you
remember that.”

She rolled her eyes.

Shane grinned, recognizing that part of the attraction was
how easily she laughed, how easily they laughed together, how naturally they
fit and how good it felt to be with someone who wasn’t angling for a wedding
ring because of his family name or his stash of cash, who didn’t want bragging
rights for having slept with him.

Madison had a core of loyalty—and that was like holding aces.
She was resilient but still soft—and totally sensual.

Being with her heated him up faster than any other woman
ever had—and then there was the fact that she’d been with Tyler, that his being
with Tyler would turn her on, not off.

Don’t go there.

But it was hard not to when he knew the exact instant Tyler
emerged from the toilet and saw the two of them.

Immediate impulse, lean in, take Madison’s mouth while Tyler
watched.

Why stop himself now?

His mouth covered hers and it was like coming home. He
moaned, pleasure rushing straight to his dick with the touch of her tongue to
his.

One of these times, he needed to get her horizontal, naked
and horizontal, but for now at least this was safe, the risk of getting outed
manageable. Not non-existent, but even if Tyler were to join them, the odds
were good that he could focus solely on Madison.

Tyler reached them.

The heat surging through Shane went up another thousand
degrees. It was impossible not to kiss Madison one more time before releasing
her.

“Ready to visit rehab?” Shane asked.

She nodded.

“You take the lead,” he told her, wondering the minute the
words left his mouth if he was even talking about their next stop.

“I will.”

She picked up the box, tucking it under her arm, the bullet
inside dropping and hitting the metal side.

“Here goes,” Madison said, opening the door and stepping
into Sunrise Journey Rehab and Recovery Services.

Like Oakhurst Preparatory, this place obviously catered to
the rich. The view of Fisherman’s Wharf through a reception area window said
expensive real estate. While pictures of a tranquil ranch in the Napa Valley
promised success for those footing the bill.

The auburn-haired woman who stepped from an office was model
tall and attractive, perfectly tailored and tastefully adorned with the right
jewelry.

“May I help you?”

“This may sound odd. But my name is Madison York. I’m
wondering if something was left here for me. A package, or possibly an envelope.”

“Just a moment,” the woman said, crossing to another office
and knocking softly on the door, the lack of surprise causing Madison’s nerves
to jangle.

From inside the office, a man’s voice said, “Come in.”

The woman slipped in, closing the door behind her.

Madison’s palms dampened and her pulse sped. Shane draped an
arm over her shoulders while Tyler’s hand tugged hers away from her jeans and
enfolded it.

The door opened.

The woman emerged with a metal box similar to the one at
Boeddeker Park.

Madison deflated, realized that she’d been hoping for—what?
That Bio-dad would step from the office? No, not that, but that at least
someone who knew him and was meant to tell her something about him would come
out, maybe even meet her and carry an impression of her to him.

Shane muttered, “This is getting old.”

Madison took the box.

They returned to the Jeep.

She set the box on the mustard-yellow hood.

Inside there was another brochure for an out-of-state rehab
place. There was an empty pill bottle, a couple of hundred dollar bills rolled
tight, as if used to snort drugs, another large envelope.

She pulled the envelope from the box and opened it, removing
the first item she touched.

It was a check for seventy-five thousand dollars.

“Doesn’t change my mind,” Shane said. “This shit is still
getting old.”

It was, but it was impossible not to feel a measure of
gratitude. She hadn’t read past the bank’s intention to foreclose, but surely
there was now enough to keep her parents from losing the house.

She tugged a photograph out next. It was the same girl who’d
been holding the baby, only fast forward a couple of years and this time there
was no doubt that she was looking at an image of her younger self.

“This picture had to have been taken pretty close to the
time I was adopted.”

In it she was smiling. Bio-mom was smiling. Their cheeks
were rosy, their blonde hair windswept.

Behind them were…tall hills? Low mountains?

“Do you recognize the scenery?” she asked.

Tyler said, “Somewhere in the San Joaquin. Let’s look at the
clue.”

It was the last item in the envelope.

Madison unfolded it and placed it on the Jeep’s hood.

Discoveries made as the past unfolds into the future. A
turning point fully embraced so unwanted destiny becomes welcome yoke, the
first true steps toward it taken among cantaloupe fields that stretch for
twenty-one miles.

The picture, the wording, it was hard not to think that this
clue would lead her to Bio-mom.

Madison’s heart thudded hard and fast. Her stomach churned.

She reached for Tyler’s hand and welcomed the feel of
Shane’s at her waist.

“You want to keep going on this?” Shane asked, and she knew
both men had come to the same conclusion she had.

Did she have a choice? Hadn’t she known this was a
possibility after accepting that first five thousand along with the boarding
pass and a card with Bulldog Montgomery’s number on the back?

“I have to.” Not just for her parents, but for herself.

Shane exhaled loudly. “Okay then. First up, we need a city.”

Tyler’s hand squeezed Madison’s. “Google the distance
between Stockton and Newport News.”

Shane turned, leaning a hip against the Jeep. “Because?”

“The clue you and Madison found in the locker. Remember that
first line? It said
from coast to coast, two-thousand, nine-hundred and
three miles mark the distance
, but the number didn’t have anything to do
with finding the rental box.”

Shane nodded. “And Madison showed up in Newport News.”

His arm left her waist. His fingers tapped the cell screen.
He shook his head. “Two thousand, nine hundred and thirty-four miles by car.”

“Try Modesto.”

His fingers were already busy. His smile said it all. “Two
thousand, nine hundred and three by road.”

Madison touched the clue. “If we approach this the same way
we did the last one, the words that pop as the most likely to lead to an
address are yoke and cantaloupe.

Shane did the search, his frown deepening until finally it
gave, just a little bit.

“There’s a Cantaloupe Springs Apartments in Modesto. That’s
the best I’ve come up with. Let’s hit it first, try something else if that’s a
bust.”

Tyler said, “We can grab something to eat before we get
there.”

They hit a Taco Bell on the outskirts of Modesto. Finished
the meal by the time they’d entered a rundown, rough-looking area where tennis
shoes dangled from power lines and pit bulls roamed fenced front yards or were
chained to trees.

Cantaloupe Springs Apartments was three stories of green
adobe tagged with graffiti.

Shane parked.

In the passenger seat, Madison rubbed her palms against her
thighs.

Shane leaned over, touched his mouth to her cheek. “We’ve
got your back.”

She turned, met his lips and pulled strength from the kiss.
Whispering against that sensuous mouth afterward, “Let’s do this then.”

She got out of the Jeep, eyes meeting Tyler’s.

He pulled her in for a hug, brushed a kiss against her hair
and said in a low voice, “Don’t get your hopes up, Madison.”

His concern created a burst of warmth in her chest. “I
won’t.”

Could she even label what she felt as hope?

His lips touched her ear. “We stick together for this one.”

“Agreed,” Shane said.

A kiss and Tyler released her.

She said, “Let’s hit apartment twenty-one since he made a
point of using that number when he talked about cantaloupe fields.”

They climbed to the second floor. In front of the apartment,
Madison’s heart pounded even harder than it had at reading the latest clue.

It was hard not to think about the picture of Bio-mom holding
her, both of them smiling.

Tyler’s hand cupped her neck. Shane’s settled at the base of
her spine.

She dug her nails into her palms, lifted a fisted hand.

Don’t get your hopes up.

Knock.

Don’t get your hopes up.

Knock.

Don’t get your hopes up.

Knock.

When no one answered, the depth of the letdown revealed just
how much she had hoped.

Tyler pulled a business card from his wallet and fished out
a stubby pencil to scrawl a message requesting a call.

He wedged it between door and jamb.

Shane said, “Might as well start going door-to-door since
we’re here. Could learn something useful.”

The first and second floors were a bust. Either no one
answered, or those who did come to the door claimed not to recognize Bio-mom,
either then or now.

“It’s still possible we’re in the wrong place,” Shane said
after an elderly woman on the third floor said the same thing everyone else
had.

Madison heard a phone ring twice three doors down. Tyler
said, “We’re almost done. We can rethink it in the Jeep.”

No one answered at the next apartment. Or the next.

They stopped in front of a door with wooden planters on
either side of it, each one holding plants heavily laden with cherry tomatoes.

The curtains in the window above the box to the right moved
slightly.

Madison knocked on the door.

A stooped old man opened it and said, “Let me see the
picture you’ve been showing around.”

Surprise skittered through her, until she remembered hearing
a phone ring after talking to the elderly lady three doors down.

She held out the photograph.

He took it from her, his lips pursing, his gaze going from
the picture to her face, then back again several times.

“So she gave you up for adoption. Probably shouldn’t be
surprised but I am.”

Madison jolted and felt its echo in Shane and Tyler. “You
knew her?”

“Enough to say hello if we passed coming or going. Thought
she was doing a good job taking care of you on her own despite looking too
young to be saddled with a baby.”

“What was her name?”

The old man frowned and handed the photograph to her. “If
you don’t know it, it’s not my business to tell you.”

He stepped backward.

She stepped forward.

“Please. The name on the adoption paperwork is Suzanne
Turner.”

His frown deepened. “That wasn’t it.”

He looked at the planter to his right. Reached out and
prodded a bright red cherry tomato with a gnarled forefinger, then plucked it,
picking a second and a third.

“Desiree Owens. That was her name. She moved in when you
were about the age shown in that picture. Wasn’t here but two or three months
before she was gone. Thought maybe she wanted to make a break from some of the
kids I saw her with from time to time. Hoped that was true when her friend came
around, asking after her, but… It worried me some when the girl said she might
file a missing persons report.”