Authors: Meryl Sawyer
“All right. Just for a few days,” she reluctantly conceded. “I’m sure I can find a place to live by then.”
P
AUL PULLED UP
to the Fisher Island home where Madison was staying. He’d been here often enough that the guards waved him through. Crappy security, but who was he to question the rich? Make that the ultrarich.
A mosaic of clouds tattered the horizon where the sun had already set, leaving a golden glow in its wake. The humidity had kicked up another notch and with it came the fragrant scent of honeysuckle that he hadn’t noticed when he’d been here before. Madison’s Beamer was parked squarely in front of the home, where the front door was wide open. Clothes were heaped in the backseat and the trunk lid was up, revealing boxes and loose sandals. Was she moving out?
Aspen greeted him in the foyer. The retriever spun in circles, his tail flapping from side to side. Paul gave the dog a few strokes on the head. “Madison, where are you?”
She appeared from the bedroom area with an armload of clothes. A sexy cascade of untamed curls clustered around her face. The skin along the high curve of her cheekbone was flushed from exertion. Her intriguing blue eyes were wide with surprise. Obviously, she hadn’t expected to see him. For an instant—maybe two—the world froze as they gazed at each other. He stepped forward, his eyes still on hers, and told himself to keep his mind on business. That’s why he’d come here.
“I’m moving out. The owners of this place are coming back
sooner than expected. I guess I brought more stuff than I realized.”
“I’ve got an SUV. I can help.” Kicking himself, he wondered why in hell he’d volunteered. He just wanted answers to a few questions, then he could go.
She rewarded him with a smile. He realized with a jolt of shock that she was glad to see him. There was something about her smile that suggested a special bond between them, a sense of intimacy. Or was it just his imagination?
“Where are you moving?”
She hesitated and he could almost see her stiffen, but she kept walking through the foyer toward her car, Aspen at her heels. “I’m using the Holbrooks’ guesthouse for a few days. Wyatt said I could stay there and bring Aspen.”
I’ll be damned.
What was Holbrook thinking? The man must be convinced Madison was his daughter and that she could help him. Given Holbrook’s medical condition, that was wishful thinking. Even a close relative might not be a perfect match. Wyatt’s immune system wasn’t normal. The chances of anyone—even his child—matching him were minuscule. “Really?”
Madison whirled around and leveled those baby blues on him. “He volunteered. I didn’t want to accept his offer, but the Russerts are returning early and I don’t have anyplace to go.” She flung the clothes onto the pile in the backseat of her Beamer.
Her anger thrummed in the air, making his thoughts whirl in his head. He kept circling back to the same conclusion. His experience on homicide, conducting interviews, told him that more was bothering Madison than the sudden need to move out.
Paul put out his hand and touched her shoulder. He resisted the urge to haul her into his arms and hold her close. “What’s wrong? Something’s happened.”
“I’ve been the victim of identity theft.” Anger punctuated
each word. “I don’t have any money except the cash in my wallet. Less than a hundred dollars.”
“Son of a bitch! How did that happen?”
“I have no idea.” He detected more than a hint of desperation in her voice. “I’m usually very careful but…someone got into my savings and my credit cards’ cash lines.” She explained the situation.
He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. This is happening at an alarming rate.”
“I need a place to stay short-term.” She glanced down at the retriever beside them, and he wondered if the glint in her eyes was from unshed tears. Darkness had fallen, making it impossible to be certain. “I have to keep Aspen with me, too. The guesthouse has a side yard. I’m just staying for a few days, until I can straighten out my finances and find a place that allows dogs.”
Now was a good time to ask about Aspen, but he couldn’t bring himself to add to Madison’s troubles. “Have you reported the theft to the police?”
Madison shook her head, her glossy hair swishing across nearly bare shoulders. She was wearing a skimpy blue tank top and shorts. “No. The last thing I want is to see the police again. They think—”
“It has to be reported if you expect the card companies to drop any charges you didn’t make.”
“From what I can tell, there were no charges, just cash withdrawals. They withdrew the limit from all three of my credit cards.”
“Uh-oh. That’s a pisser. I thought you could only get so much from an ATM.”
“I can’t reach anyone who can help me until tomorrow. I’m not exactly sure how they withdrew so much money from my accounts.”
A thought hit him. “I’ll bet my father has someone who can work on this.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll—”
“I don’t have any money to hire him. Don’t—”
“You can pay him when you have the money.”
She started to protest but he quieted her with a one-armed hug. His father picked up his cell on the second ring. Didn’t Mike have a life? Paul’s cell had been off since he drove onto the ferry to Fisher Island. Paul explained the situation and relayed some vital personal information from Madison so his father could access her records.
In typical fashion, his old man didn’t ask any questions about Madison. He knew exactly who she was and how important she was to Wyatt Holbrook. Apparently, that was enough for him. S’okay. Paul didn’t want to explain his relationship with Madison to his father. Hell, he couldn’t even explain it to himself.
He snapped his cell shut, saying, “You have to file a police report. It’s not a crime until you report it. It’s possible a gang is getting info off the Internet or through a credit card company. The police will know if there have been similar cases.”
She heaved a sigh. “All right. It can wait until tomorrow. My cards are maxed and my savings cleaned out. They’re not getting anything more tonight.”
“Right. Let’s get you settled at the Holbrooks’. After a good night’s sleep, you’ll feel more like facing the police.”
Madison gave him an appraising look to let him know she’d
never
feel like seeing the police.
She’s hiding something.
He’d suspected as much from the first morning he’d met her, but now he was fairly certain he knew what it was.
“Let’s get the rest of your stuff,” he said as he guided her back into the house.
Even though Madison had moved in for just three weeks—which turned out to be two—it took several more trips to lug out all her stuff. When you got right down to it, men would never be able to figure out why women needed so much junk.
“Could you bring Aspen?” she asked when they shoved the last load into his SUV. “There’s no room in my car.”
“Sure,” he replied, although the retriever would have to sit on some of her things. He snapped his fingers in front of Aspen’s nose and the dog lumbered up into the passenger seat of his car.
“I’ll meet you there. Go through the gate, then veer left and follow the road around to the side of the main house. Wyatt told me there are two parking spaces in back of the guesthouse and a stone path that leads from there to the guesthouse.”
Paul nodded and climbed into the SUV. He petted Aspen as he waited for Madison to pull out. The retriever gazed up at him with amber eyes that said Paul must have hung the moon. An aching sadness he’d never experienced before swept over him.
This poor dog must have suffered horribly, and yet he still trusted, still loved. People weren’t as forgiving. He’d read Madison’s file. He knew she’d loved Aiden and given up her education and pitched in her savings to start their business, only to have her husband leave her for another woman.
It wasn’t fair. Suddenly, his father’s old saying brought him up short. Who said life would be fair?
T
HE GUESTHOUSE TURNED
out to be a three-bedroom home twice as big as the house Paul’s father had purchased several years ago. The lights were on and the ceiling fans were going. Holbrook must have had his staff get the place ready for Madison.
The house was decorated in what Madison called “Tommy Bahama” style, which meant plantation shutters and furniture made out of cane. The walls were a cool green that was almost white and all the fabric had some damn fernlike design. A haven in the tropics. Oddly enough, it seemed to suit Madison perfectly.
They lugged in her stuff and deposited it in what Madison
dubbed the “spare” bedroom so she could sort through it later. Aspen tagged along, after taking a detour to relieve himself in the guesthouse yard’s lush banks of ferns adjacent to a small swimming pool with a spa.
“Thirsty?” Madison asked Aspen.
“You bet,” Paul replied. “I’m guessing this joint has glasses and stuff. What self-respecting guesthouse wouldn’t?”
Madison led Paul, with Aspen at his heels, into a good-size kitchen with gloss-black granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. Not only did the kitchen have dinnerware and pots and pans, but the refrigerator and pantry were fully stocked.
“Not bad.” He took the glass she’d found for him and shoved it under the ice dispenser on the refrigerator door. “It’ll be hard to beat this.”
Madison filled a ceramic soup bowl with water for Aspen. The dog must have a bowl somewhere, but Paul didn’t blame Madison for not hunting for it. Poor kid had been through a lot today.
“Let’s take a break for a few minutes,” he suggested.
She gave him a weary nod and he followed her into the living room. He opened the French doors to the small terrace overlooking the pool and spa. The heady scent of exotic flowers he couldn’t name saturated the humid night air. Artsy-fartsy lighting created interesting patterns of shadow and light through the clusters of ferns around the royal palms lining the yard. Paul figured some damn decorator hadn’t been satisfied doing just the interior.
The slow, undulating sound of the surf on the shore reminded Paul that the ocean was just over the wall surrounding Corona del Mar. During the day, the guesthouse probably had a view of the water. He turned and went back inside.
Madison sat on the comfy sofa and Paul plopped down near her—but not too close—and put his feet up on an oversize ottoman with a plush cushion top. Aspen settled on the
bamboo floor between them. Except when he’d been driving, it was the first time Paul had sat down all day. His leg ached a bit more than he would have liked. Maybe he’d given up on physical therapy sooner than he should have. But then again, this was the first time he’d been on his feet for so long. Usually his father had him sifting through info to locate Wyatt Holbrook’s children.
“I don’t like coincidences,” he announced.
“Meaning?” Her voice, husky and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through him. Just being around her interfered with rational thought.
He tamped down any erotic ideas and kept to the subject. “Meaning first your best friend is murdered and you’re the prime suspect, then someone loots your accounts.”
“I don’t see how they could be linked.” Her tone, her attitude, was dismissive. “I studied mathematics in college, you know. Most people don’t understand numbers. For example, how many people would you need to have in a room to find two with the same birthday?”
He didn’t like getting off track, but he humored her. “A lot. Fifty, sixty.”
“Would you believe two dozen? Most people tackle the problem by thinking there are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year and twelve months. So it seems like there would be a lot of numbers to take into account. Actually, only a few numbers come into play. There are twelve months in a year and a max of thirty-one days in a month. A birthday like mine is 3/7. There aren’t that many numerical combinations to come up with for all the possible birthdays.”
“Without the year.”
She smiled at him and he hoped she was thinking he wasn’t dumber than dirt. He’d gone out with a lot of women but none of them had a mind like this. He liked it. Madison kept him thinking, kept him interested in a way no other woman ever had.
“Correct. That’s why coincidences are perfectly understandable. Everyone can list a string of coincidences in their lives.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“I know police don’t like coincidences. I’ve seen enough television cop shows to realize this, but I think I’m just another random victim of ID theft.”
“We’ll know more when my father looks at things. It bothers me that your accounts were looted when you were distracted with Erin’s funeral.”
“I can’t imagine ID thieves killing someone to divert a victim. It’s too easy to accomplish without extreme measures.”
“True, but what if someone deliberately took advantage of the situation?”
She conceded slowly, “I’ve considered the possibility.”
“Have you spoken with your ex?”
“No!” she snapped. “Aiden would never—”
“Never say never. I’ve seen worse, much worse, happen after a divorce.”
His statement made her seem to consider the possibility more seriously. She gazed off into the distance while the lulling sound of the waves lapping at the sand filled the room.
She finally said, “I’ll talk to Aiden first thing in the morning. I don’t want to go to the police or waste your father’s time if Aiden is involved. Let me talk to him and get back to you.”
“Good idea.” He swung his feet to the floor even though he was betting that the ex was involved. Better to let Madison discover this for herself. “I’d better get going.”
“Wait. You came out to Fisher Island for a reason, didn’t you?”
More like an excuse, he thought. He’d told himself it was business, but on the way here with Aspen, he’d been forced to admit the truth to himself. When you got right down to it, he wanted to see her again.
“Have you found out anything about Erin?”
He seized the opportunity to scoot closer to Madison. “A little. I’m not sure how or where it fits.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“If you’ll tell me the truth.”