Simon Says Die (8 page)

“What's all this?” he asked. He flipped through the pages and glanced up at her. “Contracts?”

“Alleged contracts. I found those in Damon's things when I was . . . suspicious of him. That list”—she pointed to the paper on the bottom of the stack—“contains the names and addresses I got from the contracts. I visited all of those places to see if the owners really knew Damon, and if maybe he'd contacted them recently.”

“You said alleged. They're all fake?”

“Yes, as confirmed by each person I spoke with today.”

He flipped through all of them again, looking more closely at each page. “I don't see anything with MacGuffin's listed on it.”

“That's because Mr. MacGuffin shredded the contract. He was suspicious of me, thought I might be trying to pull some kind of scam. I let him have the contract so he'd know I wasn't trying to cheat him.”

He folded the papers and held them in his left hand. “I'll give these to Casey, see if he can find anything useful.” He pulled her to her feet and tugged her toward the car. “Come on, let's go.”

“Are we going to scout out the museums for Damon?” Her voice came out in choppy pants. Pierce realized she was jogging to keep up with him.

He slowed his longer stride to match hers. “It's getting too late in the day to go museum hopping. I have somewhere else in mind.” He stopped beside his car and opened the door for her.

She slid inside. “Where are we going then?”

He couldn't resist baiting her. “To see Tessa.”

She let out a string of curses as he shut the door. He struggled to contain his answering grin as he headed toward the driver's side of the car, all the while marveling at how such ugly words could pour out of such a pretty little mouth.

“T
HAT SHOULD BE
everything.” Pierce stuffed the last of his shirts into the suitcase and snapped it closed.

Madison watched without enthusiasm. She hated being in the house he'd shared with Tessa, regardless of whether his personal relationship with the other agent was real or not. Jealousy was a useless emotion, and Madison hated being in its grips. But she couldn't seem to do anything about it.

Pierce set the suitcase on the guestroom floor and rolled it into the kitchen. He set it by the door that led out to the garage.

Madison followed, pausing beside the white couch in the family room. According to Pierce, Tessa was coming over to return his keys now that their case was over. They had to wait until she arrived.

She glanced at the double doors at the end of the family room. “If you were living out of the guest room, how did you get a fresh shirt the other day out of the master bedroom?”

“I kept a few changes of clothes in there for appearances, for when we had people over.”

Her face flushed at the knowledge that he'd treated her like any common stranger, continuing the charade of being undercover, even when it had only been the two of them in the house when he'd gone in that room for a shirt.

He headed out of the kitchen toward the double doors. “That reminds me, I need to grab the clothes out of the master closet too.”

Madison stopped in front of one of the bookcases and picked up a picture of Pierce and Tessa, the one where they were kissing. “This sure looks real.”

He paused beside her, took the picture, and laid it facedown on the shelf.

“Would it matter if it was?”

Yes, damn it.
She looked up at him, suddenly wanting to tell him the truth about why she'd left. She searched for the right words to let him know how sorry she was for how she'd ended things, the lies she'd told him, and the real reason she'd broken up with him. “Pierce, I—”

“Am I interrupting?”

Madison stiffened and turned toward the kitchen. Tessa had perfect timing, along with her perfect complexion. Madison gritted her teeth and batted her lashes at Pierce. “Where did you put my three-fifty-seven,
darling
?”

His eyes narrowed as he gave her a warning look. “Thanks for meeting me here, Tessa.”

“No problem.” She gave Madison a wary glance and stepped into the family room. “It will be a relief to get out of this tacky place and back to my own apartment.”

“You didn't have a say in decorating this house for your assignment?” Madison asked, surprised.

“Are you kidding? Have you noticed the pitiful artwork on the walls? And could you possibly imagine a more colorless existence? Next time I go undercover, I'm going to insist that I have some input on the decor.” She wrinkled her nose.

Madison clamped her mouth shut to keep from laughing. Damn. She'd have to strike through “tacky decorator” in her
why-I-don't-like-the-redhead
column. Of course, there were still plenty of other reasons left in the column.

Like the kissing picture, for one.

“Do you need help with your things?” Pierce asked.

Tessa shook her head. “No, but I have that information you wanted.” She looked at Madison. “That is, if you don't mind giving us a minute?”

“Actually, I—”

“Madison can stay inside while we talk in the backyard,” Pierce said.

Not even close to what Madison had planned on saying.

Pierce gave her another warning look before heading outside with Tessa. The man really should have been a high school guidance counselor. He was a master at the
behave-or-else-guidance-counselor-death stare
.

Too bad it was wasted on her.

She sat down on the couch and tried to be good, to give him privacy. But after a couple of minutes she gave up. She'd never been good at being good. She crept over to one of the back windows and peeked through the blinds.

T
ESSA LEANED AGAINST
one of the oak trees in the backyard, a concerned look on her face. “How are the ribs?”

“A little stiff. I'll be good as new in a couple of days. You said Casey has some news already?”

“An initial report, yes. He said to tell you he's still digging.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to him.

He slid the report out and scanned the first page.

“I admit I was surprised when I walked inside and saw Mrs. McKinley,” Tessa said. “I didn't expect her to be with you.”

He glanced up from the page. Something in her tone put him on alert. “I'd hoped to have her settled somewhere safe by now, but she's being stubborn. Things seldom go as planned when Madison is involved.”

“Yeah, I can see that. She's something else. Has quite a temper.”

Apparently, the dislike between Madison and Tessa wasn't all one-sided. After Madison's target-practice comment yesterday, and her asking for her gun a few minutes ago, he could understand Tessa being wary. But she didn't know Madison well enough to judge her.

Madison's bravado was her way of dealing with a world that assumed she was weak because of how petite and fragile she looked. And her outlook was jaded from being brought up by an older brother who constantly warned her how dangerous the world was. She'd protected herself by building that tough, sarcastic shield to hide her true emotions. Pierce felt privileged to have been one of the few people she'd ever let in past that shield.

“She has a good heart. She's been through some rough times.” He skimmed a few more paragraphs of the report. “How did Casey get into the NYC medical examiner's database?”

Tessa was frowning when he glanced at her, but her face quickly smoothed out. “He did mention he called in a favor he'd been saving, and that you owe him. Big time.” She stepped toward him and peered at the report. “I think what you're interested in is on page five.”

He flipped to the indicated page, which gave the medical examiner's conclusions. “Not much here.”

“Depends on what you're looking for. Everything seems straightforward. Damon McKinley died in a car crash. Freak accident, nothing suspicious. I'm not sure what you thought you'd find.”

Something to explain why Madison felt Damon could still be alive.

He lowered the report. “I was hoping for something more.”

“Casey said you'd say that.”

He slid the pages back into the envelope, then slid it into the large inside pocket of his jacket, exchanging it for the packet of papers Madison had given him earlier. He handed them to Tessa.

“What are these?” she asked, flipping through them. “Contracts?”

“They're contracts Madison said her husband created, allegedly fake. Can you get those to Casey for me?”

She shoved them into her purse. “No problem.” She glanced back at the house, and tapped her fingernails against her thigh.

“Something bothering you?” Pierce asked.

She smiled a sad smile and leaned against the tree again. “I may be a relatively new investigator, but even I know you didn't meet me here just to get that report, or to turn over your keys—or those contracts.”

“You're right. I wanted to tell you that I'm taking Madison to my house until I get to the bottom of this stalker business. I'm not sure how long I'll need to watch over her. A few days, a week, maybe more.”

“Your house huh?” She pursed her lips. “Well, I guess that means our first date you'd promised after the case was over is on hold.” She glanced at him. “Or canceled entirely.” Her voice sounded brittle, and she was no longer smiling.

He wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't seem to gather any enthusiasm for setting up a future date with her, even though he'd been looking forward to getting to know her better—before he'd seen Madison again. He nearly groaned out loud when that realization struck him. “Things are . . . complicated right now.”

“No more complicated than they were before.” She held up her hand to stop his next words. “It's okay. I'm the one who pursued you, even though it was obvious you were still hung up on someone else. I don't have to look too far to figure out who that is. She's watching us out the back window.”

The urge to grin at Madison's outrageous behavior didn't seem appropriate, so he was careful to keep his face blank. “She's my best friend's sister. I owe it to him to keep her safe. Later, maybe you and I can try again.”

“I think we both know that's not going to happen.” She tapped her fingernails against the tree. “It's probably for the best. Office romances have a way of turning out badly. This way neither of us has to transfer to Alaska when it all falls apart.” She held out her hand. “I guess this is our official good-bye, at least, on a personal level.”

Knowing Madison was watching, and that she was already acting like a jealous shrew when it came to Tessa, he hesitated. But when Tessa started to lower her hand, he realized it wasn't fair to her to end things this way—even though nothing had really quite begun between the two of them.

He reached for her hand, and instead of shaking it, he pulled her close to give her a kiss on the cheek. She turned her head at the last second, and her lips met his. Pierce was too surprised by her bold action to immediately pull back.

The only time they had ever kissed was for that picture inside the house, and that had been the day they'd met. The kiss had been awkward and uncomfortable for both of them since they were strangers.

He'd always expected that if he and Tessa ever
really
kissed, once they got to know each other better, he'd feel something, anything. But instead, all he could think about was the kiss he'd shared with Madison on the sidewalk, how his heart had slammed in his chest, and how he'd ached to make slow, sweet love to her again.

With Tessa, he felt . . . nothing.

He reluctantly pulled away, cursing the fact that the woman who set his blood on fire was a little hellion who was just as likely to shoot him as to kiss him.

 

Chapter Eight

M
ADISON LET OUT
a pent-up breath when Pierce stopped his car in the driveway of her brightly colored colonial so that she could pack a suitcase. Her stomach was still churning, after witnessing that tender kiss Pierce had given Tessa. Thank goodness he didn't realize she'd seen it.

She jumped out of the car and hurried up the brick path. He caught up to her in the foyer as she was disabling the alarm. He wrinkled his brow and gave her one of those
what-are-you-thinking
looks as he locked the door behind her.

“Wait here.” He drew his gun and headed into the family room.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, impatiently waiting while he methodically searched every possible hiding place on the ground floor, including the kitchen and the hallway that led to the mother-in-law suite. When he came back into the family room, he headed up the stairs with his gun still drawn.

Madison shoved away from the wall and plopped down on one of the couches. A few minutes later, when Pierce came back down, his gun was tucked away.

“Didn't find any bad guys up there, huh?” she asked, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

“Just one. I tossed him out the window.”

She reluctantly laughed and was rewarded by one of his sexy grins. Regardless of all the hurts and secrets between them, he could always make her laugh. “I'm surprised you didn't search the basement too.” She chuckled and stood to go upstairs.

“Basement? Where's the entrance?”

She groaned. “I was being sarcastic.”

“I know. I'm still going to search the basement.”

She shook her head and pointed toward the back hallway. “There's an inside entrance in the hall closet. I'm guessing the former owner put it there so he didn't have to go outside to do the laundry. I'm going to have the staircase moved one of these days.”

“Stay here,” he ordered again, as he headed toward the basement stairs.

When he came back, she hopped off the couch. “Give me fifteen minutes to pack.” She headed up the stairs, but stopped and turned around when she realized he was following her up. “I don't need your help packing my bras and panties.”

His mouth quirked up. “You sure about that? I wouldn't mind.”

Even though she knew he was teasing, the idea of his hands running through her underwear drawer had her feeling flushed. If it weren't for the fact that she needed to pack without him seeing
what
she packed, she'd see if he were bluffing.

“Fifteen minutes,” she repeated. “You already searched for bad guys. I'm perfectly safe.”

He didn't look happy letting her go upstairs by herself, but he nodded and turned around.

She hurried up the stairs, down the long hallway to her bedroom. She grabbed one of her larger suitcases, and tossed it onto the four-poster bed. She shoved far more clothes into it than she needed, trying to ensure the suitcase was full enough to explain the weight.

Then she stood back to judge her handiwork. She grabbed several more pairs of panties, the silkiest, sexiest ones she had, and sprinkled them on top. That should deter Pierce if he searched her suitcase, which she assumed he would do.

The man probably thought he'd taken all of her guns when he took her Colt .380 and .357 Magnum. But he hadn't even made a dent. She'd heard too many horror stories from her brother and his law-enforcement friends through the years not to be hyperaware about all the kinds of evil that existed in the world around her.

And having been married to Damon, she knew all about evil.

She clenched her jaw and headed into her closet. She took two pocketknives and shoved one into her bra, and one into her front jeans pocket. Then she crossed to her suitcase and stored two 9mm pistols with loaded magazine clips in the bottom of the suitcase, under a stack of silky thong underwear and some lacy bras. She wasn't sure that was enough to deter a thorough search. What else could she do?

She tapped her finger against her jaw. Ah, yes! She hurried into the bathroom, reached under the cabinet and pulled out the perfect thing to keep him from searching her suitcase well enough to discover her cache of weapons. The one thing that made even the toughest of men stutter and blush.

Tampons.

She grinned as she tore the box open and headed back into the bedroom. She dumped every last one of them into the suitcase.

M
ADISON SMOOTHED HER
hand over the bumps on the rustic wooden front porch railing as Pierce stood next to her. A log cabin was the last place she would ever expect him to choose to live. She'd always thought of him as a city slicker, like her, not the type to surround himself with acres of trees, or to live miles outside of town.

He'd surprised her several times since forcing himself back into her life again. She'd never realized how tenacious he could be, how stubborn, how loyal. He had every right to turn his back on her and not help her, especially when she'd fought him every step of the way. That's what most men in his situation would have done. But he'd made a promise to a friend, and because of that promise he was doing everything he could to help her.

She couldn't help wishing that he wanted to help her because he cared about her, not because of some stupid promise to her brother.

“Not what you expected?” he asked, watching her closely, as if it were important to him whether she liked his house.

He
wasn't what she'd expected. She was beginning to think she'd never really known him at all, that she'd missed something important by not spending the time to peel back all his layers. “No, I can't say that it is.”

He must have seen something in her eyes, because his smile faded.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

What was wrong was that she'd made a terrible mistake by breaking up with him. And it was too late.

She sighed. “Just tired. I didn't sleep well last night with Tessa the Terrible holding a gun on me.”

He laughed and unlocked the door. He entered a code into the beeping alarm keypad and rolled both of their suitcases inside. “I never would have thought I'd like anything but a condo or an apartment like I had in Jacksonville. But your brother teased me about my city ways one too many times, so I thought I'd give it a try.” He shrugged. “I'm still getting used to it, but so far, it's not half-bad.”

Madison stepped inside. Pierce shut and locked the door behind her. There was no point in him giving her a tour of the house. The entire floor plan was visible from the entryway. The kitchen was a tiny collection of cabinets and appliances in the back, left corner of the main room. Two doors opened off the short hall to the right. Both were open, revealing a small bathroom and a bedroom.

One
bedroom.

Pierce left his suitcase, the one he'd brought from the “undercover” house, sitting by the entertainment unit to the right. He rolled Madison's suitcase down the short hall into the bedroom.

Following behind him, she glanced at the bed before looking back toward the hall to see if she'd missed a second bedroom somewhere.

“The couch folds out into a bed,” he said, in answer to her unspoken question. “You get the luxurious master suite.”

“Ah, heaven.” She took a few steps past the bed and peeked into the bathroom, which was the same one visible from the hall, accessible by two different doors. At the end of the bedroom was a small deck. She tugged open the sliding glass door and stepped outside to breathe in the crisp, cool air that smelled heavily of pine.

There was no yard to speak of, just the woods, creeping up toward the house. The sun was beginning to set, so she couldn't see a lot of detail, but what she did see was so beautiful she was beginning to wonder if she'd made a mistake moving into town.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pierce lift her suitcase up on the bed. And just as she'd expected, he unzipped it and opened the top in his never-ending quest to rid her of her arsenal. Then he froze.

The shocked look on his face was priceless as he stared down into the suitcase. A few seconds later, without touching anything inside, he flipped the top closed, zipped it, and left the room.

Madison was still grinning a few minutes later when she unpacked the bare minimum of clothes and toiletries she'd need for the next few days. Everything else remained in her suitcase, to cover her guns. She took her knife out of her jeans pocket, and the one from her bra, and shoved them under the layer of thongs and tampons before heading into the main living area to check on Pierce.

He was tucking in the sheets on the pullout sofa bed. She was about to offer to help when her cell phone rang.

She pulled it out of her pocket and frowned at the unfamiliar number. “Hello?”

“Mrs. McKinley, this is Joshua MacGuffin. I believe I may have seen your husband.”

M
ADISON TOOK A
bite of her blueberry bagel, but only because Pierce kept frowning at her untouched food. Normally, breakfast was her favorite meal of the day. And on a typical day, she would have loved dining at this beautiful café on East River Street, looking out at the Savannah River. Today, however, was anything but typical, especially with Lieutenant Hamilton sitting across from her.

The lieutenant took a loud slurp of his coffee and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “I hope the meeting with MacGuffin will be quick. I've got my own meeting to go to, with the ‘Simon says' taskforce.”

“Making any progress?” Pierce asked.

“Not really.” He grimaced. “Don't tell that to the media.”

“You know the FBI would be happy to help if you invite us.”

Hamilton raised a brow. “Does that include you?”

“No, I'm out of the serial-killer business, at least for now. Had my fill.”

“Can't say that I blame you. I don't have much of a stomach for it myself. Nasty business. So, what time did you say this MacGuffin meeting is?”

“Nine o'clock,” Pierce said.

Madison shoved her bagel back, tired of small talk. “Shouldn't we get going? We don't want to be late.”

Pierce reached for her hand beneath the table and squeezed. Apparently, that was his signal to be quiet. If his hand didn't feel so good on hers, she'd let him know what she thought of his penchant for bossing her around. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around his. He glanced at her in surprise, but didn't pull his hand back.

“We'll make it in plenty of time,” he said. “It's a two-minute walk from here.”

“As for time,” Hamilton said, “It would have been nice to have a little more notice myself. Like maybe when I'd questioned someone at the police station, they could have clued me in that they thought the shooter was their late husband miraculously come back to life.”

Madison opened her mouth to object, but promptly closed it when Pierce squeezed her hand again. He was probably right. Anything she had to say to Hamilton was only bound to get her in trouble.

“Madison knew her story was difficult to believe,” Pierce said. “She didn't want to burden the police with it until she had some kind of proof. When Mr. MacGuffin called last night to say he might have seen her late husband, I decided it was time to fill you in on her suspicions.”

Looking somewhat mollified by Pierce's diplomatic explanation, Hamilton nodded. “What exactly did MacGuffin tell you?”

“He said he was walking through the restaurant last night when he saw a man who fit Madison's description of her late husband, right down to the unusual light blue eyes. The man was signing a credit card receipt and looked up just as Mr. MacGuffin was walking by. That's when he noticed the eyes.”

“Did he talk to the guy, ask his name?”

“No,” Madison said, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Mr. MacGuffin said he was so surprised that he rushed back to his office to call me. He wrote down the date and table number so that he could pull the man's credit card information from the cash register, but he got interrupted with some kind of problem at the restaurant before he could make the call. He forgot about it until he got home and pulled my number out of his pocket, and by then it was getting dark. He said he has problems seeing at night, so he wanted to wait until this morning to go back to the restaurant. He called me to make the appointment.”

She'd offered to go pick him up last night and drive him to the restaurant, rather than wait. But Mr. MacGuffin had politely refused, telling her he'd had a long day and was already settled in for the evening.

Hamilton took another long sip of his coffee. “Okay, let's assume he can figure out which credit card receipt is for the guy he saw. You don't actually think if your husband faked his death that he'd get credit in his real name, do you?”

“Of course not. But Pierce thinks we could get a judge to make the credit card company give us more information on the cardholder. It might be enough to figure out where Damon is.”

Pierce released her hand and Madison immediately missed the warmth of his touch.

“I doubt it would be that simple,” he said, “but at a minimum we could track his movements, see if there's a pattern. We might find out where he's living, if he isn't paying his rent in cash. Finding him should be fairly easy, if he sticks to any patterns. Most people do.”

Hamilton was already shaking his head before Pierce finished his last sentence. “No judge is going to issue a warrant based on a widow's belief that a man looks like her dead husband.” He wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. “Mrs. McKinley, believe me when I tell you that I completely understand how you could see someone and think he was your dead husband. I lost my wife to cancer a couple of years ago, and to this day I can still see a face in the crowd and swear she was my Amy.” His mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “But you and I both know that's not possible. It's just the mind playing tricks on us.”