Simon Says Die (5 page)

“I'm sure I can find my own way out.” She shoved past “pretty face” and hurried through the long row of cubicles.

By the time she made her way out of the building onto the sidewalk, her embarrassment had settled into a cold, hard knot of resentment in her stomach.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the brick wall, taking deep breaths as she struggled for control.
Control
. That's what she needed to do, control this crazy situation instead of allowing others to control her.

All her life she'd been the baby, sheltered, protected. Her mother, father, and even Logan had smothered her with good intentions. They'd made decisions for her until she wanted to scream. When she'd met Damon, her family didn't approve of him, which made him more appealing to her. She'd decided it was time to take a stand, to make her own choices.

So she'd chosen Damon.

You've been a very bad girl.

She held her hands over her ears to block out the memory of Damon's voice. A whimper escaped between her clenched teeth.

“Miss, are you okay?”

Her eyes flew open. She forced her hands down and drew in deep, gulping breaths. A businessman holding a briefcase stood on the sidewalk in front of her, a look of concern on his face. His gray suit made her think of the agents inside the FBI building, which had her anger surging all over again.

“I'm fine. Thank you.” At his doubtful look, she said, “Headache. I just need to . . . get some water, and take something for it.” She hurried down to the corner onto the next street, leaving the stranger behind.

You shouldn't have snooped. Curiosity can get you in trouble. Remember that.

No!

She clutched her hands to her chest and forced her feet to keep moving. All these months she'd convinced herself Damon was dead. She'd been in denial, assuming the autopsy report was wrong, that sloppy police work had missed the bullet in his burned-out corpse.

The bullet she'd put in him.

But now she knew better. Someone else had died in that car crash. Damon had killed another man and faked his own death. Now he was in Savannah, watching her. Why? What did he want? Money? Revenge?

Tears stung her eyes. She'd finally seen the evil inside him, but it had been too late. Far too late.

An image of her father's beloved face the last time she'd seen him suddenly swam through her mind.

Forgive me, Daddy.

 

Chapter Five

“D
ON'T WORRY,”
C
ASEY
reassured Pierce. “Agent Williams followed Mrs. McKinley out of the building. And he'll keep an eye on her until you catch up.”

Pierce nodded and sat down in front of Casey's desk. He wasn't happy about letting Madison out of his sight, but with another agent shadowing her, she couldn't get into too much trouble. At least, until she figured out she was being followed and shook her pursuer, which he wouldn't put past her.

“Williams had better stay alert,” Pierce said. “If Madison realizes she's being followed, she'll give him the slip just to be ornery.”

Casey laughed and reached for his keyboard. “What was her husband's name?”

“Damon McKinley. He died in a car accident about eighteen months ago.” Pierce stood and circled around behind the desk.

“Location?”

“Madison and Damon lived in Manhattan, but the accident was outside of the city.” The idea of Madison being married to another man didn't sit any better with Pierce today than it had when he'd first met her. Not that it should matter. Any future he might have planned with her was destroyed when she left him. That part of his life was over, and he needed to focus on what was important, keeping her safe until her brother could take over that job.

Casey's fingers flew across the keyboard. A moment later the screen displayed a newspaper article with a picture of a mangled, burned-out car.

“Single-car accident,” Casey said. “Rain-slicked road, high-speed turn. He lost control going around a corner, wrapped the car around a tree.”

“It's unusual for a car to catch on fire like that. The body was burned beyond recognition.”

“Rare, but it does happen—if there are enough fumes in the gas tank and it ruptures. What kind of finances are we talking about?”

“Damon had money before he married Madison. He wasn't outrageously wealthy, but they were comfortable. Madison's father had several life insurance polices that paid out millions to his wife and kids when he died. Her brother, Logan, invested their money and grew it into a fortune in a fairly short amount of time, mainly in real estate and dot-coms. He has a knack for buying low and selling high, and getting out of markets before they crash.”

“Remind me to ask him for investment advice. Did Damon die before, or after, Mrs. McKinley's father?”

“A week or two after.”

Casey frowned. “Why would a man fake his death, when his wife just inherited millions of dollars?” He clicked an icon on his desktop and performed another search.

“I agree it doesn't make sense.”

A few searches later, another document filled Casey's screen. “We can rule out insurance fraud. He didn't have insurance, none that I can find anyway, unless it was an amount too small to show up on federal radar. Kind of unusual not to have life insurance. Self-employed?”

“From what little Madison would tell me on the way here, I gather he was an entrepreneur. He invested in small businesses up and down the East Coast. But he was very private about his work, and Madison wasn't all that interested in it. She focused on her own work as an assistant curator in one of the museums in New York.”

Casey relaxed in his chair. Pierce leaned back against the desk.

“Did she tell you anything about the marriage? Why she thinks her husband would want to kill her?”

“She isn't exactly confiding in me right now. The only reason she agreed to come here is because she feels guilty about me getting shot, and she's worried I'll tell her brother about it. She says she doesn't want to ruin his honeymoon, but I don't buy that. She's hiding something. Damned if I know what it is.”

Casey tapped his fingers on the desktop. “When you went to the station to talk to Hamilton, did you discuss whether this could be related to the ‘Simon says' case? I haven't heard anything about that killer stalking his victims before he kills them, but it's possible.”

“He didn't think the two were related. He still hasn't invited the FBI in on that case?”

Casey shook his head. “Hamilton's stubborn. He wants to handle it himself. Honestly, he's got some crack detectives over there. They might solve it without our help anyway. Hopefully soon, before more bodies pile up. There've been three murders now.”

Pierce shook his head. “What about Madison? Can you think of an angle that would give us jurisdiction to look into her husband's death? If Damon's alive, someone else died in his place. We might be able to convince NYPD to invite us in to investigate.”

“Maybe, but exhumation is expensive. Without credible evidence, I don't see NYPD paying for it. I sure can't justify it in my budget. I suppose we could ask Mrs. McKinley if she'd be willing to cover the cost, sounds like she could afford it. But what would be the point? It'd be nearly impossible to confirm the vic's identity. The fire most likely destroyed any viable DNA. Does Damon have any blood relatives, so we would have a DNA profile to compare against?”

Pierce shook his head. “Damon was adopted.”

“Dental records?”

“Madison said her husband refused to go to the dentist because he'd had some kind of bad experience as a kid.”

“This is all beginning to sound rather convenient.”

“My thoughts exactly. Body burned beyond recognition, no DNA, no dental records. I'm inclined to understand why Madison believes he could still be alive.”

Casey steepled his hands over his chest. “How long were they married?”

“A little over a year.”

“They should have still been in their honeymoon phase, and yet she thinks he's trying to kill her. What kind of marriage did they have?”

Good question, one that had gnawed at Pierce since yesterday morning. “I haven't had much of a chance to ask her all those details yet. It was a struggle getting her to answer just a few questions on the drive over.”

“Why is she so reluctant to involve law enforcement?”

“I'm not sure if she's reluctant to involve law enforcement, or if she's just frustrated over the police's handling of her nine-one-one calls, and reluctant to involve
me
.”

Casey pursed his lips. “What did Damon have to gain by faking his death?”

“I think the only person who might be able to answer that is Madison.”

Casey punched the clear key, erasing the contents of his screen. “The police didn't find any evidence to back up her reports that someone was stalking her. The only verifiable facts are that she chased a man and he shot at her. Playing devil's advocate, I can think of several explanations, and none of them involve her former husband faking his death and coming after her.”

Pierce let out a long breath. “I agree. The most obvious explanation is that the man she chased was casing the house to rob her. When he couldn't shake her, he shot at her so he could get away. I can ask Hamilton if there have been any burglaries in the area, but I think he would have mentioned that when I spoke to him earlier.”

“Fledgling burglar? Casing his first house? It could explain why she saw him watching her house so many times. He was nervous, not sure what to do. Where does she live?”

“East Gaston Street. One of those historic mansions, worth a cool million, easy. Might be closer to two.”

“A burglar's dream.”

“I don't want to dismiss this without a thorough investigation,” Pierce said. “I want to make sure she's not in danger. If your theory is right, then no one is after her. The burglar will move on to an easier target. He won't want someone to spot him in the same neighborhood after all the attention caused by the shooting. But if your theory is wrong, anything is possible.”

Casey nodded and glanced past Pierce, as if making sure the door was closed, before looking up at him.

“Any chance you'll let this go, leave it to the locals?”

“None. Metro PD doesn't have the resources to put someone on guard duty over Madison, or to dig into this and figure out what's really going on.”

“What do
you
think is going on?”

He thought for a moment. The facts pointed to this as a one-time event, most likely the burglary scenario. But Madison was too nervous. She was hiding something. She was convinced her husband was after her. He didn't see how she could be that sure without having a really good reason.

Like being
certain
her husband wasn't the one who'd died in the car crash.

He shook his head. “You're probably right about all of this. But I have to follow up and make sure she's safe. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her when I could have prevented it.”

Casey's brows rose. “Because you're still hung up on her?”

He clenched his hands beside him. “Because I promised her brother I'd keep her safe.”

Casey didn't look like he believed his excuse.

Pierce wasn't sure he believed it either.

“Well,” Casey said, “unless new evidence comes to light, I can't classify this as federal. And unless Savannah-Chatham Metro PD invites us to participate in the investigation, there's nothing we can do. If you work this case, it will have to be as a civilian, on your own time. Now that your undercover work is wrapped up, you've earned some time off.”

“Shouldn't take more than a few days.”

Casey gave him an arch look. “I'm not thrilled about this. I think you're still emotionally involved with Madison McKinley.”

Pierce stiffened. “My past relationship, emphasis on
past
, is not relevant.”

“I'll spare you the standard lecture. But if you do something stupid because you're distracted, and get yourself killed, don't expect me to cry at your funeral.”

Pierce gave him a bland look. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“You do understand there's no way I can officially help.”

“Understood. But, if you
were
to look into this, hypothetically speaking, what do you think you could do?”

“Well, hypothetically speaking, of course, I could operate on the assumption the shooter really is Damon McKinley. I could build a dossier on him, see what's lurking in his background, follow the paper trail, starting in New York.”

“When will you have something for me?”

Casey grinned. “Give me twenty-four hours.”

M
ADISON STEPPED OUT
of the taxi onto East Bay Street, clutching her heavy purse to her side. Since Pierce had refused to give her back her Colt .380 unless she produced a concealed weapons permit, she'd had to go home after leaving the FBI building to retrieve her much bulkier, heavier, .357 Magnum. And just to be sure his police buddies couldn't track her down again, she'd taken a cab instead of her flashy red convertible.

She'd also printed out a list from her computer, a list that detailed some of Damon's investments that she'd found while snooping on
his
computer. That was the first time she'd seen his irrational temper.

And the first time she'd realized something was very, very wrong.

Some of the legal documents she'd copied from the folders in his desk drawer all those months ago were also in her purse. He'd supposedly sunk money into small businesses in most of the major East Coast cities, including a handful here in Savannah.

The few investments Madison had looked into after her husband's estate went through probate had turned out to be bogus. She didn't expect the ones in Savannah would be any different, but it was a starting point. If he knew the businesses well enough to write fake contracts about them, Madison figured he knew the area. As her brother had often told her, people tend to follow patterns, whether they realize it or not. They return to the familiar.

Hopefully that meant someone at one of those businesses knew him, and might have seen him recently. It was the only way Madison could think of to try to track him down. The alternative was to sit in her house and wait, and worry when he might show up again.

And what he might do.

Sitting around, being on the defense, had never been her style.

She sidestepped a group of slow-moving tourists, maneuvering her way down one of the bumpy, stone access ramps to East River Street, taking special care with her weak ankle. The brisk air coming off the Savannah River had her wishing she'd brought a scarf to cover her neck. She flipped her jacket collar up and hurried past the outdoor market to a brick building with a black and orange sign out front boasting its name, MacGuffin's Bar & Grill.

The restaurant hadn't opened for the lunch crowd yet, and no one answered the door when she knocked. She'd been a waitress in more than her share of restaurants to earn her way through college. If this place was typical, there were probably at least a couple of staff members inside getting the restaurant ready to open. Which meant the service entrance was probably unlocked so the staff could easily come and go.

She headed around the side and found the service door. As she'd expected, it was unlocked. She stepped inside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior. The smell of roasted peanuts and stale beer hit her nostrils.

“We're closed,” a tall man said, standing in the narrow hallway, blocking her way. He wore faded jeans and a black T-shirt with the restaurant's name on it. “We're not open for another hour. And it's customary to use the front door.” He pointed toward the front of the restaurant.

Madison gave him her best smile. “Sorry to bother you. I'm Madison McKinley. I have urgent business with the owner. Is Mr. MacGuffin around?”

“Is he expecting you?”

“I didn't get a chance to call ahead, but it's very important.”

“If you're a salesman, he's not buying.”

“I'm part owner of this restaurant, and I need to talk to Mr. MacGuffin.”