Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (26 page)

FORTY-NINE

While Madeline was hard at work on her computer, Jane logged on. Madeline pounced on the chance to get a damage assessment. Jane replied immediately.

how are u??

ok. they finally agreed to take the video down,
Madeline replied.

thank God! what was that??

I can’t get into it now, but i can tell u Steven was behind it.

what? r u shitting me?!

no, unfortunately.

what’s going on?

i’ll tell u when i get back to sb.

when is that?

thursday or friday. I need to know who sent u the link. I need u to forward the original message with the full address of who sent it.

ok – why?

i need to trace it back to the original source, if possible. How many people do you think got it?
Madeline asked, though she was afraid of the answer. Jane’s balloon remained motionless for a few seconds, increasing Madeline’s dread.

everyone.

Madeline bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. She knew when she saw the video the whole purpose of releasing it had been to cause her as much shame as possible. That’s when it occurred to her Steven was trying to force her out of Santa Barbara. He probably figured she’d never be able face anyone she knew after her character had been so thoroughly trashed.

what have u heard?
Again, Jane hesitated.

everyone thinks Steven kicked u out because he found out u were having an affair. Natalie said u were being blackmailed and Steven refused to pay anymore.
Madeline clenched her teeth, the muscles in her face twitching as she read this outrageous lie.

where did she hear that?

Amanda told her.
Madeline barked a harsh laugh as she sat back and connected the dots. Amanda was married to John; John was one of Steven’s partners. So cozy. All Steven had to do was confide in his partner and share the video link and it was
un
fait accompli
. Destroying her reputation had been so simple, it hardly seemed sporting.

is it true?
Jane asked.

of course not! it’s all a pack of lies. but u can’t let anyone know that you’ve been in contact with me. just go along with it for now and feed me the latest developments. ok?

absolutely! what else can i do to help?
Madeline sighed as she replied.

if I think of anything, i’ll let you know. gotta run.

hey – i’m on your side 100% - i want u to remember that.

thanks. XO. delete these messages.

Madeline closed out of Messenger and stood up. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling and twisted, eliciting a series of pops and cracks down her spine. She took a swig of the now warm beer and regretted it. She nibbled on a leftover crust from her club sandwich to get rid of the unpleasant taste as she went to inspect the minibar.

She had sent back the unopened champagne in favor of a draft beer, seeing as her call for celebration had been premature. Beer was definitely more fitting for her downtrodden frame of mind, as some sort of sedative was in order after the shock of finding herself starring in an X-rated internet video.

Now that she had let her natural calm dictate her counter-measures, she felt somewhat vindicated and worthy of a stiff drink. She opened two mini Jack Daniels bottles and poured them into a highball glass with two cubes of ice. She grabbed a notepad and pen and took her drink to the sofa, where she set about doing some serious strategizing.

After two sips of the heady booze, her whole body relaxed. It was late and she’d had another long, stressful day. But the good news at 2:37 a.m. was the video had been pulled off the internet.

Once she recovered from the shock, she took the necessary steps to inform the site of the video’s content and its link to a sexual assault. It hadn’t been as easy as she’d hoped to get her issue addressed, but once she made it clear the video documented an unsolved crime, she finally got the response she was looking for.

She would have to track down its origins and pursue legal action at a later date. From what she had already learned through her detective course, tracing the user back would probably lead to an account with bogus registration information. If RAM L.P.’s security team was mixed up in this—and she’d bet her life they were—they’d be too clever not to cover their tracks. For the time being, she’d have to focus her attentions on the plan of attack that would afford the best results.

Now she assessed what her next moves should be. She thought of labeling this list “Getting Even with Steven,” but the mere thought of his name made her tense up all over. She decided instead on “Operation Justice.”

The order of her objectives wasn’t as important as trying to get her head around all the different avenues she needed to pursue. She’d made up her mind to take her suspicions to the SBPD. She needed to remember the name of the detective Burt had spoken to about her rape. It would come to her, she hoped. She wrote “Call SBPD” on the list.

Something told her not to expect much from the detective agencies she had contacted in Santa Barbara. In one respect, she was okay with that; she didn’t relish having to explain the twisted circumstances behind her desire to find out the truth about Burt’s death. Trying to get anyone on board with the rest of her baggage seemed impossible at this stage. Who would believe her?

At least she wasn’t completely unschooled in the steps it would take to unearth Steven’s felonious financial dealings. Item number two on the list was “Hall of Records.” That was where Burt had found the thread that led him to the unrecorded loan payoffs. The way he had explained his steps seemed straightforward enough.

The secret to finding the pertinent information lay in searching for deeds of trust listing RAM, L.P. as the lien holder. The website Burt used allowed him to search for…
private party loans
. Madeline circled this; she’d have to investigate that in the morning.

So, if she was able to pull up a list of all the real estate loans made by Steven’s company, then she could go to the courthouse and ask to see those records. She took a healthy slug of her drink, hoping that would somehow meld these facts into a plan of action she could imagine carrying out. She didn’t know anything about public records and trust deeds. How would she know what to look for?

I’ll just have to go through it one trust deed at a time, use a pretext, like Burt did, offering to lower their interest rate… Then, if I contact any borrowers who’ve already paid their loan off—or think they have—they’ll tell me. Then I’ve got him. Piece of cake.
She let out a groan and took another swig of the now watery bourbon.

“Okay, back to the list.” She drained the remainder of her drink and sat back down on the sofa, her hands forming a pyramid as she pieced the steps together.

She would contact the borrowers under a “pretext” the way Burt had. If any told her they had already paid off their loan to RAM, L.P., she could either get statements from them, or play it safe and turn the names over to the district attorney’s office. She winced at her choices; she didn’t like either one. She didn’t relish the idea of putting herself in danger on the one hand, or having the file collect dust at the D.A.’s office on the other.

She’d have to leave that quandary for later. The question now was what to do next. What, if anything, could she do from her exile in Guam? Not much.

The solution seemed so simple, she gasped at not having thought of it sooner. The one thing she had going for her right now was her seeming cooperation. So far, she hadn’t given anyone who might be listening reason to doubt she would fulfill her obligation of staying on Guam long enough to establish the required residency. She had given herself an extra buffer by pretending she would stay in L.A. for a few days before going back to Santa Barbara. Assuming someone had been listening, she had bought herself some breathing room.

She logged on to her computer and checked flight schedules. Tamuning, Guam to Los Angeles, March 2
nd
, one-way. She sat back and waited impatiently for the search to return the flight information. Now that it had occurred to her she could get off this island earlier—the main advantage being two days undercover in Santa Barbara—she couldn’t stomach the thought of lingering on Guam any longer.

After five minutes of staring and swearing at the rotating dots, she gave up and tried a different approach. Instead of a broad search, she tried a specific airline. Much easier; her search came back in seconds. But there was a problem: all of Delta’s flights had a stop in Tokyo, which meant she’d have to travel with a passport. That wouldn’t work. She needed to purchase the fare under the name Madeline Dawkins and show that driver’s license at check in. She was already booked on a flight leaving two days later under the name Ridley. She had to let that reservation stand and fly under the radar with her maiden name.

She backed out and tried a different airline. Same problem. Now that she had her heart set on getting back to Santa Barbara early, it depressed her to think she wouldn’t be able to. She tried a third airline. Success: Guam to LAX via Honolulu. There was a flight leaving at 7:15 a.m.—in just four hours. Could she possibly get herself together by then? She’d have to. Getting back to Santa Barbara only one day early wouldn’t give her enough of a leg up on Steven.

On top of boarding a trans-Pacific flight after a night of zero sleep, she’d have a five-hour-forty-minute layover in Honolulu. She massaged her neck as she tried to envision pulling this off. She went back a screen and tried a different approach. A business-class one-way ticket would cost her $2,905. It would be well worth it. At least she’d be able to sleep somewhat comfortably.

Out of curiosity, she checked first-class. She balked at the price tag of $9,329 and gratefully settled for business-class. She thought through the steps carefully before booking the flight. She clicked the button, setting her plan into motion.

Now that she had set this crazy new plot into action, she had to go over the next steps very carefully. She was aggravated at herself for getting rid of the rental car, for now she wanted to make one last stop at the Westin to clear out the rest of her things. She had to figure this out.

She rang the front desk and asked that her bill be prepared; something had come up and she needed to leave early. She also asked for a cab to pick her up in 30 minutes.

That done, Madeline selected her travel attire and laid it out on the bed. She charged her laptop, cell phone and Kindle. She then hopped in the shower. While still in her underwear, she rounded up all her personal items and packed them for the long journey back to Santa Barbara. She managed to get it all packed into her LV carry-on and her tote, though both were bulging.

Now it was time to get dressed, something she had not been looking forward to. While it was still in the high 70s at 4:30 a.m., she pulled on the black slacks she had worn on the trip over, along with a black T and black cashmere trapeze cardigan. She then selected a pair of unworn shoes from the bunch she’d picked up at Saks. They elevated the outfit to a whole new level.

For the embellishments, she put on the diamond stud earrings, Rolex watch, the tanzanite pendant, and her four-karat diamond wedding ring—all carefully selected to give her the look of understated wealth, which she knew could come in handy at check in. If she was really lucky and the plane wasn’t full, she might get bumped up to first class. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened, which supported her lifelong belief that dressing mattered.

According to her watch, she had five minutes left before the cab arrived. It was Monday, mid-morning in California. She took a deep breath and placed a call to Mike. He answered on the fifth ring.

“Am I catching you at a bad time?” she asked.

“No, I’m up. Already had my run, shower and shave.” Madeline had trouble with the image of Mike Delaney running.

“Oh, good,” she said, resisting the impulse to mock him. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“What’s up?” Mike asked, his demeanor turning serious.

“Nothing…”

“Isn’t it the middle of the night there?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yeah. I’m still having trouble syncing to this crazy time difference. By the time I get used to it, I’ll be back home.”
Home.
She had to stop using that word. “Anyway, I finally broke down and bought something to help me sleep, so I was afraid I’d oversleep and miss calling you.”

“Well, that was thoughtful of you. I’m sorry you can’t sleep. That sucks. After all you’ve been through, you really need to have good sleep. Maybe when you’re back here you’ll be more relaxed.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Madeline said, her eye on the clock. She let out a yawn that didn’t require much faking.

“Better let you get some shut eye. I miss you,” Mike said, catching her off-guard.

“I miss you, too,” she said, a guilty feeling niggling at her. She almost confessed her true intentions, then stopped herself in time. “Look, if I don’t call tomorrow, don’t get panicky, okay? It just means I’ve finally broken the sleep drought.”

“Alright. You’ll be back here when? Wednesday? Thursday?”

“Thursday. But I’ll definitely call you before then.”

“You better!”

“I will.”

“Okay. Sweet dreams.”

“Thanks.”

“Maddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” Madeline held her breath for a second.

“I know you do.” She held the phone to her ear for a few seconds longer, then saw that the call had been ended. The phone in her room shattered the silence with its harsh jangling tone. She seized it before it rang again.

“Your taxi’s here, Ms. Dawkins.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

FIFTY

Madeline told the cab driver she’d be gone as long as half an hour, but to keep the meter running. She took the room key from her pants pocket as she entered the Westin, holding it out so that any late-night security would know she had a right to be there.

She slid the key card into the slot and opened the door as quietly as possible. She crept to the bathroom and flushed the toilet, using the noise as a cover while she bundled up her cosmetics and toiletries in a towel and laid them on the bed. She retrieved Steven’s Louis Vuitton carry-on and quietly set about packing it with all the things she had left in the closet, then added the toiletries.

One thing she hadn’t counted on was the disposal of the cheap suitcase she’d picked up in Santa Barbara. She pulled the tags off and carried it over to the bed. She flattened it out and gently slid it underneath the bed frame. She put the tags in her tote, along with the other miscellaneous items lying around.

Whatever was in the dresser drawers was going to be left behind, for she couldn’t risk the noise a squeaky drawer might make. So far, all the sounds that could trigger the wireless mic had been consistent with getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

She lifted the LV carry-on off the bed and held it aloft as she took it to the door. She gave herself a few seconds to go over everything in her head before placing the key card on the dresser. She breathed deeply and crept to the door, easing the handle down. She removed the “Do not disturb” card from the inside of the door. She positioned herself and the bag, then opened the door and slipped out.

She let the door come almost to a close, then caught the heft of it on her hip and let it slide noiselessly over the strike plate while she held the handle down. She raised the handle and the door securely closed without making a sound. She placed the “Do not disturb” card in the key slot.

That ought to take care of that,
she thought, as she exhaled deeply and walked down the hallway to the elevators. At 5:15, she walked through the lobby as the hotel showed the first signs of preparing for another day of service.

Madeline smiled gratefully as the flight attendant placed a cup of chamomile tea on her tray. She enjoyed this small triumph of finagling her way into a first class seat. All she had to do was make polite conversation and ask for an application for their frequent flyer program. The rest came as a spontaneous gesture on the part of the representative.

When she’d finished the tea, she rang for the attendant and asked that she not be awakened for meal service; she was dead tired and needed to get some sleep. The attendant gave her an extra pillow and wished her sweet dreams.

Madeline made herself as comfortable as possible, closing the window shade to darken her space. As exhausted as she was—mentally, physically and emotionally—sleep was not as easy to coax as she’d hoped. There were still too many doubts and fears that hadn’t been laid to rest yet.

In an effort to clear the slate, she started a mental list of all the loose ends that were niggling at her subconscious. She had received two calls from the 805 area code as she was walking to her gate. She let both go to voicemail. The calls could only be from people returning her calls, as no one else with that prefix had her new cell number.

Madeline couldn’t decide what to hope for the most: a call back from a detective agency or from one of her rental inquiries. She’d check them out during her layover in Honolulu. She smiled to herself. She was definitely enjoying the fact she had set this ambush in motion, and had finessed it so she’d have access to the executive lounge where she could conduct a few hours of business before the flight to Los Angeles.

There were of course two huge concerns that she refused to let intimidate her: fear for her safety and the small matter of having broken the agreement to produce a super-quick divorce. From her soft leather perch, she shrugged off those concerns. Everything depended on her ability to get enough evidence against Steven to send him to prison for years, hopefully decades.

What else?
she wondered, drumming her fingers on the armrest. She’d have to arrange for a rental car pick up in Los Angeles. She thought about getting her list out, but sleep was peeking coquettishly around the corners of her eyes. She needed to set alarms so she could call Mike at intervals to keep him securely in the dark. She hated lying to him, but she couldn’t risk his safety.

She shook her head as thoughts of Burt’s death jostled her budding confidence. The only thing she had going for her was the fact that she’d already hit rock bottom. Sure, there could be more pain ahead, especially if Steven managed to cover his tracks on the embezzlement and fraud. He already had the solution at hand. He had the advantage over her of being a duplicitous double-crosser from way back. She really didn’t stand a chance…

But as she reflected on being so grossly out-matched, a technicality occurred to her that actually did put his plans in jeopardy. Unless he had the influence to sway the laws governing Guam divorces, Madeline had just thwarted his quick divorce/rapid marriage plan by leaving Guam before meeting the seven-day-stay requirement. Of course, once Steven learned of this, she’d have a target on her back.

Oh, what a treacherous course this has become,
Madeline thought as her lids closed and blissful sleep took the rudder from her hand.