Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (29 page)

FIFTY-FIVE

Madeline reached over the stack of files for her iPhone. 8:22. She groaned as she tried to straighten out her legs. She had been sitting on the floor for over two hours, combing through every file in Burt’s drawers. She was so exhausted from the search, she could hardly see straight. She was aching from head to toe and her stomach had been complaining loudly for the last hour.

She got up onto her knees and scooted past the wreckage of strewn files, then used the side of the desk to bring herself to her feet.
I feel like a ninety-year-old woman,
she thought as she stretched her back and ambled off to her new restroom.

When she finally worked up enough strength to get off the toilet, she surveyed the damage. Looking at the mess she’d made got her to thinking about her supposition. She believed Burt was killed because of his scrutiny of certain trust deeds. If that was the case, then whoever had been tipped off would want to make sure Burt didn’t have any evidence that could be found after his death.

This is what Madeline found troubling. Unless Burt had the statements from the first two or three borrowers on him at the time he was murdered, then surely someone would search his office—and his home—in order to find them. Unless they didn’t know about those statements—unless the tip-off had come from Burt’s fifth and final contact.

Madeline eased into Burt’s chair and swiveled around to stare at the chaos on the floor.
Which was it—Steven’s hit men didn’t know about the statements, or did they find the evidence on him?
Madeline pinched the bridge of her nose as she willed her mind into focus.

“Okay…I don’t think Burt would be carrying those statements around with him. He told me that they were in a safe place. So…either the thugs didn’t know that or they broke in here and found what they were looking for already…”

This last thought further disturbed her. There had been no sign at all of any break in, but then again, the guys in Steven’s employ were highly trained in the security field. Most were ex-military; she knew that much from Steven. He was quite proud of his security team. She had always assumed it was an ego thing. Boy, had she been naïve.

Now the question was where had these pros looked. “Alright…either they searched this place and found what they wanted, or they came up empty-handed like I just did and they checked his home…”

Madeline stood up and began to pace.
Where did Burt live?
She thought back through all their conversations, but she couldn’t remember him ever mentioning that.

“Think, think, think…” she admonished herself. She automatically reached for her bag, wanting to spark her thought process with the books on her Kindle, but she didn’t have her regular tote with her. She sat down and rapped on the side of her head, hoping to shake some memory loose.

“I can do a property search to see if his name comes up,” she muttered to herself. Again, she was frustrated at not having the proper tools with her. She’d left her computer at the motel, not knowing the dramatic twist her plans were going to take.

“Garage sales!” she cried out, retrieving one clue from the conversation with her new landlord. She did a search on her phone for Craig’s List, seizing on a small hope that Burt’s son would have his garage sale listed already.

There were several listings for upcoming garage sales in Santa Barbara, but unfortunately none had “Burt Latham’s son” in the title. Still, she had addresses she could use to trace the owners’ names. But that would only pay off if Burt happened to own his own home.

Feeling more defeated than victorious after a very long, action-packed day, Madeline gathered up the strewn files and placed them haphazardly back in file drawers. She then went back to the bathroom to wash her hands, giving herself a scare as she caught a glimpse of the strange reflection in the mirror. A soft yelp escaped her before she remembered she had been parading around incognito. She laughed feebly, shaking her head at all the elaborate ruses she had put in place, the disguise being the least of them.

I must be losing my mind,
she thought wearily as she gathered her things and turned off the lights.
The hall lights had already shut off. She used her phone flashlight while she locked the door and then followed its beam down the eerily dark hallway.

As she approached the steps, light emanating from surrounding businesses and street lamps gave off enough glow so she could make it down the steps without falling. She fumbled with the keys and managed to get the gate locked. Three steps later, she was back on State Street.

For one unsettling moment, she had forgotten where she parked. She stood on the corner of State and Figueroa, walking her mind back several hours to where her quest began—at the courthouse. With relief, she recalled pulling into the parking garage on Anacapa between Victoria and Anapamu, which was less than three blocks away.

“Thank God,” she said out loud as she crossed with the light and turned up State to walk along more brightly lit surroundings. She was dead tired, starving and vaguely disappointed with herself and life in general. When her cell phone heralded an incoming text message, she jumped. It was Mike.

Where are you staying?
he asked.
What does that matter to you?
Madeline thought.

In a motel,
she replied.

I’m at the Island View. I’ve got two queen beds and an ocean view.

You’re in SB??Why?? I told you not to come,
she typed under a street lamp. She was in no mood for surprises. All she wanted to do was find her rental car and sneak off to her motel for a hot shower and some sleep. But food would be good too…

The Marimba ringtone sounded, ending her solitary thoughts.

“I told you I didn’t want you to come up here,” Madeline said before Mike had a chance to speak.

“Yeah, I know. And you rudely hung up on me too, as I recall,” Mike replied, nonplussed by her irritable mood.

“And I told you why I didn’t want you up here…”

“Yes, and your reasoning was absurd. You somehow think you’re more equipped to deal with Steven and his goons by yourself, even after all the shit he’s put you through. I’m
not
going to stand by and watch you go it alone, that’s all there is to it. So, get used to it and get your butt over here.”

During Mike’s harangue, Madeline had sputtered entreaties that had been completely ignored. In the end, she didn’t have it in her to duke it out with her most trustworthy ally.

“Okay, you’re here—nothing I can do about that now. But I’m in no mood to socialize. All I want is a shower and sleep—and food, if I can find something along the way…”

“Where are you right now?”

“Right now I’m in a parking garage downtown, looking for my rental car. Unfortunately, I don’t know which one is mine. They all look alike.”

“Use your clicker,” Mike said.

“Oh, good thinking…”

“See, you do need me.”

“You’re right—I need you, I adore you, and I can’t live without you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Maddie, wait! Don’t you dare hang up on me again.” Madeline couldn’t help but laugh. She was punchy from fatigue and would’ve laughed at almost anything. “How far are you from your motel?”

“I don’t know…five minutes.”

“And how far are you from the Island View?” Madeline held the car door open with her shoulder as she threw her handbag in. She stopped and sighed. There was nothing even remotely appealing about her cheap motel room. She knew if left to her own devices, she’d probably have to pass on a meal due to lack of strength.

“Does your room have a tub?” she asked weakly.

“Big tub, water jets and everything!”

“Oh, God,” Madeline moaned, her resolve crumbling. “I need food.”

“I’ll get you anything your heart desires,” Mike promised.

“You really are too good for me,” Madeline said.

“Don’t I know it. Now get over here before I withdraw the offer.”

FIFTY-SIX

“Sorry, you must have the wrong room—I didn’t order a hooker.”

“Ha, ha. Let me in. It’s cold out here,” Madeline said, pushing her way past a gloating Mike. “Stop laughing,” she said, tossing her bag on one of the queen beds.

“Is that supposed to be a disguise?” Mike chided her. Madeline gave him one of her looks that ordinarily would’ve shut him up. “Bleached-blond suits you. I think you should dye your hair that color.”

“I think you better get this out of your system in two seconds, or I’m out of here,” Madeline said, hands on hips. Mike got in one more quick smirk, then adopted a more somber attitude. Madeline gave him a stony look of warning and pulled her wig off. She tossed it beside her cheap handbag and started aggressively massaging her scalp.

“I need to wash my hair,” she said, glancing around Mike’s mini-suite. She wasn’t going to admit it, but his plush room sure beat the heck out of her lowly motel room.

“Right this way—everything Madame requires is at your disposal,” Mike said in a hammy English accent. Madeline started to follow him, but hunger won out over the need to scrub the dinginess of travel off her body. She didn’t even want to calculate how long it had been since her last shower.

“Do you have anything to eat?” she asked, grabbing the back of a chair to steady herself. The sight of Madeline so wrung out softened Mike.

“You name it, I’ll get it.”

“I need something right now,” she said gravitating toward the minibar.

“Here—we’ve got almonds, chips, cookies.” Madeline grabbed all three, popping open the can of almonds as she went into the bathroom.

“Do you want some real food?” Mike asked through the closed door.

“Yes!” Madeline said over the sound of the bathwater running.

“What?” Mike called back.

“Mexican.”

“Okay… Anything in particular? From anyplace in particular?” Madeline opened the door enough to poke her head through.

“I would kill for La Super-Rica, but that would probably be too much trouble,” she said through a mouthful of chips.

“It’s no problem, if that’s what you want.”

“No, wait—I want a chicken enchilada verde and a chili relleno from Rose Café. And some nachos. You can call the order in. The one on the Mesa is closest,” she said as Mike did a search on his cell phone.

“Okay, I got it. Anything else?”

“A Negra Modelo,” Madeline said, blowing him a kiss as he placed the order.

“How are you feeling?” Mike asked as he gingerly lifted a huge chicken flauta, trying to eat it before it fell apart.

“Much better,” Madeline said with a smile. She took a swig of her beer and surveyed the damage. She scraped the last bit of melted cheese from the plastic plate. “You were a saint to do this for me.”

“De nada,” Mike replied. “Want any of this?” he asked, offering her some of his rice and beans. Madeline waved it away, taking her beer and her protruding stomach over to the sofa.

“Oh, God!” she said, referring to nothing in particular, and everything in general.

“Are you glad now that I came to your rescue?” Mike asked, joining her on the sofa with his horchata. Madeline blanched at the thought of shivering and starving in the dark, cold motel room. By way of an answer, she leaned against him, surrendering to his ministrations.

Mike smiled and kissed the top of her head. A minute later, he removed the listing beer bottle from her hand. A minute after that, her head drooped. He gently eased her against the cushion and got up to turn down her bed. He put a bottle of water on her side table, turned out the lamp and the overhead light, then lifted her off the sofa and carried her to bed.

She woke briefly, startled by the human contact and the strange surroundings, but Mike’s presence reassured her. She turned on her side and was gone.

“Sweet dreams,” Mike whispered, touching his fingers to his lips and placing them lightly on her cheek. He sat on the sofa, watching her sleep for about an hour, then got himself ready for bed.

Shortly after 2 a.m., Mike awoke to a terror-filled scream. He switched on the light and found Madeline thrashing against her covers.

“Maddie, Maddie—it’s okay! I’m here. You’re safe,” he said, pulling her close and rocking her while she sobbed. “Honey, come on—I’m right here with you. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.” After a couple of minutes, Madeline became silent.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked. She nodded and blotted her eyes with the sheet. Mike got up and fetched a box of tissues. “What was it?” he asked as he sat back down beside her. Madeline shook her head. She was still trembling.

“I don’t know,” she whispered hoarsely. “I just remember dreaming about something…and then,” she shook her head again, “…someone leapt out at me.”

A knock sounded at the door, causing them both to jump. Madeline clutched onto Mike’s arm and wouldn’t let go.

“It’s probably security,” Mike said, easing away from her as they heard another knock.

“Hotel security,” the man said, as Mike pulled on his pants. He peeked through the peephole before opening the door.

“We got a call about loud screaming coming from this room,” the security guard said, shining his light around Mike to where Madeline was hiding behind the sheet. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“She was having a nightmare,” Mike said.

“I need to hear it from her,” the guard said, stepping past Mike to stand in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry—I had a terrible dream. I didn’t even realize I was screaming until he woke me up,” Madeline said. She tried to smile, though she figured her tear-streaked face and red eyes were a problem for the security guard.

“I’m going to have you step out into the hallway for a moment, sir,” he said. Mike’s mouth opened but Madeline flashed him a look. He left the room while the security guard gave Madeline a chance to ask for help.

“I feel terrible about this,” she said. “I hope I didn’t wake up the whole hotel. I’ve been traveling for a while, and I think I’m just disoriented.” This seemed to satisfy the guard’s due-diligence.

“I hope you’re going to be able to go back to sleep,” Mike said after the guard left.

“Would you mind if I slept with you?” Madeline asked. Mike smiled and pulled back his covers, letting her get in before he followed suit.

He held her in his arms until her breathing told him she was back in dreamland. He only hoped it was a nicer place than last time. He also hoped he’d find a way to make Steven Ridley pay for what he had done to her. He acknowledged he was no saint while they were together, but he had never treated Madeline the way Steven had. There had to be a reckoning for the hell Steven had put her through. And Mike pledged to see to it personally.